


Fountain of Knowledge

by Ciule



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Beltane, Bonding, Dark Magic, Dark Magic Rituals (Harry Potter), Dubious Consent, F/M, Fear of Death, First Time, First War with Voldemort, Manipulation, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Minor Character Death, No redemption, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Samhain, Time Travel, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Vaginal Sex, Voldemort isn't nice, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27311743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciule/pseuds/Ciule
Summary: The myriad of glittering magical shards sank slowly down, settling like a mantle on the shoulders of two people:  A very tall wizard standing across the unlit bonfire and ... herself.Behind the deep cowl, the wizard cocked his head, indicating that they should move. Slowly, she walked towards the bonfire, and he sauntered confidently to her side, meeting her halfway.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Voldemort
Comments: 519
Kudos: 786
Collections: Pensieve





	1. 1978

**Author's Note:**

> It seems I can't leave Volmione alone. Besides, the image of a fifty-something, still handsome Voldemort is lurking around in my head...
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy the ride! 
> 
> (Mind the tag for age difference! Remember, this is fiction. IRL, such an age difference would be unacceptable.)

“See how you’ll do in the past, little Mudblood!” The hoarse, vicious voice of Antonin Dolohov came from straight behind her. With a shriek, she turned halfway around, clutching her own wand, and the sounds of battle in the Department of Mysteries seemed to still, everything moving slower as he swept his wand in a grand arch around her, sending all the Time-Turners towards her body, simultaneously making them spin in the air. 

“1978 should do it,” he rasped, “you will be a fountain of knowledge for our Lord. I hope my younger self will get to use you well, Mudblood filth!” 

There was a blinding flash, and everything flickered between light and dark so fast she couldn’t comprehend it, the pressure of time rushing backwards so immense, it was almost crushing her bones. Screaming, she felt like her body was torn apart, destroyed by time itself, becoming undone, bits of her soul and flesh scattering through time -  _ until she wasn’t _ . 

With a high-pitched wail, she landed hard in what had to be the Great Hall. The smell of roast wafted around her and the floating candles above her were achingly familiar, but she was quite sure she had never lain on her back on the hard stone floor before, staring straight up into the enchanted ceiling. Her body ached all over after the impact. 

Students were yelling and screaming around her, but Hermione laid still, eyes locked on the ceiling showing the twinkling evening stars, breathing hard, trying to determine if she merely was in pain, or if she actually was severely harmed. 

_ “Look at her!”  _ _  
_ _ “Where did she come from?”  _ _  
_ _ “Look at the bruises, has she been in a battle?”   
_ _ “Her clothes are so odd…”   
_ _ “Did HE send her here?”   
_ _ “Is she here to KILL us all?”  _

Slowly, everyone quieted, and heavy steps moved towards her. 

Angling her head with a wince, she watched the man standing above her. A stern, younger-looking Albus Dumbledore stared down at her, the business end of his wand pointed at her. 

“Which year is it?” she breathed out, making everyone gasp around her. 

“1978,” Dumbledore said calmly, his wand still pointing unwaveringly at her. 

Hermione’s eyes widened in shock, and she sat up, groaning, her body feeling like each and every muscle was bruised.  _ It was just pain then, not life-threatening injuries.  _

“1978.” 

Feeling tears fill her eyes -  _ she wasn’t even born yet, none of her friends were, her whole world had been lost in one fell swoop -  _ she couldn’t help blurting out, her shock overriding her rationality: “1978? How am I going to travel forward eighteen years to my own time? Am I stuck in the past?  _ Forever _ ?” 

  
  


Xxxx

Voldemort woke from his pleasant doze with a start.  _ Something  _ had happened, something important, possibly life-changing.  _ Like the tolling of a bell, somber and loud, reverberating in the core of his magic, finding a strange resonance within him, making his power thrum.  _

Blinking, feeling almost disoriented, he sat up in bed, shoving the witch still clinging to him aside, having no use for her after his earlier release, ignoring her indignant squeak as she fell face-down from the bed. 

He knew himself to have absolutely no powers of Divination, so …  _ what was this _ ? 


	2. All that is gold does not glitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That clearly startled Dumbledore, and he pushed his glasses down on his crooked nose, blue eyes fixing her with a penetrating stare. “Voldemort…” he said weakly, exhaling slowly. “Good heavens, is he still there in 1996?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You're the best. <3

To mutterings, whispers and the stares of a thousand students, she was marched out of the Great Hall like a criminal, the Headmaster himself holding her at wandpoint, like she was a threat to the safety of Hogwarts. _As if she would try to harm students -_ **_children_** _! - right under the crooked nose of Albus Dumbledore. As if she, Hermione Granger, was some kind of Death Eater idiot who'd launch fire and hell over innocent people._

The students were standing on the benches, stretching their necks to see her, their eyes wide at seeing their kind and benevolent Headmaster pulling his wand against a girl. 

_“Do you think HE sent her? Could she be here on a mission from him?”_ _  
__“Nah, she looks young, do you think he recruits them at that age in the future too?”_

A desperate cry broke through the mumblings: “Tell me, if you’re really from the future, will we ever find my sister? Her name is Monella Jorkins, Please, tell me… I miss her so much!” 

Hermione had never felt so exposed, so … vulnerable ... in her life. Her life was whisked away, into non-existence, and here she was, in a past that wasn’t hers, in a time where she wasn’t yet born. _And, as it certainly seemed, blamed for being thrown back in time, though it was no fault of her own._ Embarrassment and anger burned in her cheeks, and every hungry stare felt like the pinprick of a needle. 

Xxxx

“Telling everyone about your Time-travel, especially that you come from so far into the future, was very unfortunate.” Dumbledore’s voice was calm, but she sensed his blue eyes held more than a flicker of irritation. 

The Hospital Wing was much like in the future: A row of neatly made beds with starched white sheets, and the unpleasant smell of Disinfectant Potions lingering in the large room. The moonlight made a swathe of white light across the floor, and only a few, bobbing candles lit up the bedstand beside Hermione. 

She felt curiously refreshed, the heavy Pain-killing Potions administered by a young-looking Madam Pomfrey having done their work on her abused body, and now, apparently, Dumbledore had decided it was time to have _the talk_. 

_Talking with Dumbledore - this was something she knew Harry had been subjected to many times, but somehow, she thought Dumbledore had never glared so vehemently at Harry as he did at herself._

“I know,” she sighed, “but… it was a slip-up, because of the shock. I mean, I know the dangers of Time-travel so very well, but I was ripped from my own time, and…” Her voice almost caught _\- the loss of her own life, her own time, almost overwhelmed her -_ “ … it was very ... painful, ending up _here_.” 

Dumbledore nodded, a sour expression flittered over his face. “I don’t know how much you know about what’s going on in this time, but let me tell you, there are people here that would love to get a head start on what’s happening. Maybe even changing the future.” 

“I know,” she said, shrugging. “Voldemort would love to know, wouldn’t he? And maybe you too.” 

That clearly startled Dumbledore, and he pushed his glasses down on his crooked nose, blue eyes fixing her with a penetrating stare. “Voldemort…” he said weakly, exhaling slowly. “Good heavens, is he still there in 1996?” 

“Alive and well, unfortunately,” she said bitterly. 

Dumbledore glanced at her, consideringly, and he said almost too softly: “You are right. I will want to know what happens, and you’re going to tell me. _Everything_. Right now.” 

Hermione took a deep breath, looking away from him, deliberately not meeting his eyes. _It was wrong, no one should know this much about the future. Not even Dumbledore._

“ _No_ ,” she said with determination. “I will not ruin the future as it is. You know the laws of time, and I do too. So, my answer is no, no matter _who_ asks me.” 

Xxxx

“Sweet Merlin, Albus! It’s not like we can Obliviate all of Hogwarts. Too many are in the know, there’s no point in hiding the girl! We’ll just end up with a manhunt to find her. _He_ will search, and not only him! Close to everyone else who’s worried about their families surviving the war will want to know what happens. That’s … the entire wizarding world, Albus!” 

Hermione grunted, because she had never liked people talking over her head. Sitting in Dumbledore’s office, which looked almost exactly like it had in her own time, she folded her arms over her chest, glowering at the two wizards who saw fit to pretend she wasn’t even _there_. The Headmaster’s silvery instruments tingled and whirred merrily, and the shelves were filled with scrolls, books and parchments. In the back, Fawkes the phoenix was sleeping, perched on his stand, the head hidden underneath his golden-reddish plumage. 

The current Minister for Magic, Harold Minchum, was an elderly fellow, looking like a proper English gentleman, except for his tweed suit being a pale lilac with small, yellow daisies embroidered on his sleeves. He was pacing the room, polished shoes clicking on the polished stones, talking animatedly, his arms underlining his words with short, staccato movements. 

Minchum had pretended the whole time that she wasn’t present, only talking to Dumbledore. To her disappointment, the Headmaster had ignored her too. As for herself, the only reason she had kept quiet was because the Minister had done a good job of defending her wishes, not that the Minister had asked her, though. _What Dumbledore had suggested was … out of the question._

“No, I maintain that I could hide her safely. I’m quite sure the Fidelius Charm would work just fine…” Dumbledore began, but the Minister shook his head. 

“No, Albus, and that’s my final word. The girl shouldn’t be deprived of her education, and you should let her finish her schooling here at Hogwarts. She’d be just as safe in the castle as in a safehouse. Besides, even the _Fidelius_ isn’t foolproof, you know. Better to have her here, than risking _him_ finding her, you know.” 

Dumbledore harrumphed, scowling at the Minister, but Hermione noted he seemed to respect the Minister’s opinions. However, she wasn’t reassured he’d listen to _her_. She wanted to finish school, and to do as Dumbledore had so outrageously suggested - _her sitting out the rest of her life, or at least until 1996, all_ **_alone_ ** _in a cottage_ \- didn’t seem very exciting nor interesting. 

“Well then,” the old Headmaster finally said, bowing his head with ill grace to the Minister, “as you wish. I’ll have her level tested later today, and then she can join the appropriate year.” 

“Actually,” she interrupted, “I’m about to finish my fifth year, so that won’t be necessary…” 

“I think it will,” Dumbledore almost snapped, “you seem to know far too much for a fifth year.” 

  
  


Xxxx

She had gotten clothes, books and a very small stipend for necessities, from what Dumbledore sourly had dubbed “the orphan account.” The clothes seemed to be leftovers from former students, the books were dog-eared and worn, and the money would be barely enough to supply her with potion ingredients, quills, parchment and ink. _There would be no Honeydukes, no delicious Sugar Quills or precious books from Flourish and Blotts. Being poor wasn’t something she was used to, but maybe she could find a job during summer, saving up for her sixth year at Hogwarts. Oh well, she would have to survive._

During the afternoon, one by one, the teachers at Hogwarts showed up in a dusty, unused classroom to test her, each and every one beaming at her results. Slughorn told her she was marvellously clever, spontaneously inviting her to join his Slug Club on Friday, and McGonagall gave a pleased hum as Hermione managed to Transfigure a book into a hopping, croaking toad on the first try, and a mouse into a tea tray. 

“Five points for the nice silver filigran handles,” her Professor said with approval, before she narrowed her eyes: “Which house were you Sorted into, Miss Granger?” 

“Gryffindor,” she said, beaming at her favourite teacher. 

“Oh, you’re welcome,” McGonagall said, her mouth tugging into a small smile. 

By the end of the evening, Dumbledore came by, quizzing her in Defense, as this year’s teacher was now hospitalized, due to a stray curse during a duelling session in class. 

Reluctantly, he said: “You are very advanced, much, much more than you should be for your age.” Tapping his nose, he peered at her, like she was a mystery he would try to solve. Then he nodded. “I’m going to place you in the seventh year, meaning that you can take your NEWTS in two months.” 

Hermione gaped in shock. _Was this simply because Dumbledore didn’t want her at Hogwarts? Was he trying to get rid of her as soon as possible by placing her far above her year? And dear Merlin, she hadn’t read the seventh year curriculum more than once! Not to mention, she hadn’t had any of the classes for her sixth or seventh year. Her marks would definitely suffer!_

“You can’t do that!” she said shrilly, “I’m not prepared for my NEWTs! I sat my OWLs just last week in _my_ time!” 

“It doesn’t matter,” the Headmaster said callously, perching on the edge of a desk, looking down at her. “You’ll do just fine, probably much better than a lot of our seventh years. Have you put any thought to what you want to do after Hogwarts? ” 

“Really,” she said angrily. “I haven’t even processed the fact that I’m finishing my education in two months, instead of in two years! I don’t know if I want to go abroad to Sorbonne, or if I should take an apprenticeship, or…” 

“I’m offering you a place in the Order,” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes very serious. “I want to keep you safe, but first and foremost, you have so much potential. You deserve to use your potential for the Greater Good. If we can’t hide you, we could use your talents and knowledge. And you’ll be much more useful in the Order than at school.” 

Hermione blinked. _This wasn’t what she had thought he’d say at all. To be in the Order… To join in in the fight against Voldemort, to be a part of the war effort. The offer was … flattering, to say the least._

Leaning back against a desk, the slanting rays of the evening sunlight making the dust motes in the classroom dance, she studied his face. _This was Dumbledore. The Headmaster she trusted above all in her own timeline, and the man who was the Wizarding world’s bulwark against Voldemort’s unspeakable evil._

Still… Since she had arrived, he had done nothing but chiding her, working against her wishes, even trying to make her break the laws of time by spilling the secrets of the future. And now this - putting her education at risk by cutting it short. If she did badly on her NEWTs, she might not have the future job options that she had envisioned. In the Order, she’d still need an income, because the Order wasn’t paying. And what about her further education, if she was to work and fight? _There would be no time for studying if she took his offer. She’d end up in a low-level job, maybe never get back on track for the career she wanted._

To be frank, she didn’t really want to spend more time with Dumbledore than necessary. He seemed … _different_ … than the twinkling pillar of strength in her own time. More stressed. More… manipulative, like he thought he was losing a war, and would do anything to change that outcome. _Anything, for the Greater Good_. 

Frowning, she felt her anger rise. _She didn’t belong in this timeline. She had no role, none whatsoever in the wizarding war, and for a change, maybe her life could be about her. She wasn’t supposed to change things, so consequently, logic dictated she should stay out of the war effort. Maybe she should do something SHE wanted to. Harry wasn’t even born yet, nor herself, and she had no obligation to anyone. This world wasn’t her world. Not yet. She shouldn’t take part, because she might destroy the future, setting the world spinning in another direction._

Clearing her throat, she said: “No. I want to be an Arithmancer.” 

“What?” Dumbledore looked astonished, and he probably was, because her turning down a chance to be in the Order was obviously not what he had expected. 

“I’m…” he swallowed, looking at her in confusion, “In the Order, we can teach you many things, you know. Defense, Transfiguration, spell construction, runes...” 

“No,” she says stubbornly, “I want to do something _I_ want, for a change, and I want to be an Arithmancer. If I can’t have my life, at least I can do something _I_ want.” 

  
  


Xxxx

A thoroughly baffled Headmaster had sent her off to Gryffindor Tower to “think things through,” as he said. “Besides, you can’t choose an Apprenticeship until you are of age,” he had added, still looking thunderstruck, like he was trying to tell himself she’d come around. 

Waiting not so patiently outside the Fat Lady, the portrait hole opened, and a pretty redhead peeked through. 

“You must be the new girl from the future,” she said, glancing curiously at Hermione. “Come in, I’m the Head Girl, and I’m supposed to show you around.” 

Climbing inside, Hermione stared in shock. _Everything was so very similar, some of the chairs perhaps showed a little less wear - except for the fact that the room was covered in a grey, dense fog of stinking cigarette smoke._

Students as young as their third year were lounging with cigarettes in their mouths, and Hermione had to cough. _The room smelt like an ashtray, and she suddenly felt sure, she wouldn’t be spending much time in the Common Room. Surely, they weren’t allowed to smoke in the library._

“You’re allowed to smoke…?” she said incredulously, and the girl laughed. 

“Obviously,” she said with an arched eyebrow and a drawl that somehow felt familiar. 

Peering at her, she noted the large green eyes, freckles and of course, the long red hair. 

Hermione couldn’t help it. “You’re Lily Potter!” she blurted out. _Gods, this is Harry’s mother!_

The girl’s eyes widened. “Partly correct. It’s Lily Evans, Head Girl. Do you mean …” 

“Of course, Evans, she means we’re getting married in the future!” A boy came to stand beside the girl, slinging his arm around her waist, pecking her cheek with familiarity. And he, of course, was the spitting image of Harry, except for his eyes. 

Hermione groaned. “Sweet Merlin, I shouldn’t have _said_ that.” 

The boy grinned cheekily, looking so very much like her friend. “Do you know us in the future? I’m James, apparently Lily’s future husband. Also Head Boy.” 

Swallowing, she couldn’t help looking away. _What was she supposed to tell them?_

Instead, she opted to say, as casually as possible: “Sort of. You’re both … famous.” 

Helpfully, her brain added: _and very, very dead_. Luckily, _that_ never left her mouth. 

Clearing her throat, she muttered: “You know, I think I know where everything is. I only need to be shown which room I’m going to stay in. Also, is there anywhere in this school where you aren’t allowed to smoke?” 

Xxxx

New travelled fast in the wizarding world, and Voldemort couldn’t help noticing the coincidence. _This young witch from the future had arrived at the exact same time he had felt that disturbance. Had she ripped time so badly that it … reverberated ... through the entire magical world, or was he the only one to pick up on this?_ None of his followers seemed to have registered the incident, from what he’d gleaned from their minds. He would have to investigate, because she could turn out to be a nice asset. Though, he was sure Dumbledore already would have availed himself of all the knowledge lodged in her brain. 

_Dumbledore…_ He smiled lazily, eyes flicking over the newspaper in front of him, before burying his lips into the creamy froth of the dark stout in his tankard. The buzz from the Leaky Cauldron was all around him, but no one took note of the cowled figure in the corner. For that matter, he wasn’t really listening in on the conversations either. 

Augustus Rookwood, his master spy in the Ministry, had told him of Dumbledore’s mad plan to keep the girl locked up for years and years. Dumbledore obviously didn’t want her knowledge to interfere with the world, so consequently, Voldemort had to assume she knew something of importance. _Something life-changing, judging by the way her arrival had made an impact upon him._

The girl had to know something that could secure his victory, something that Dumbledore didn’t want anyone to know about. Luckily, the Minister had thwarted the Headmaster’s plan. All Voldemort had to do, was to reach out to her at Hogwarts. _Oh, if Dumbledore even had an inkling of how many of his little students Voldemort had subverted right under his nose._

Smiling to himself, he stretched out his long legs, resting his head against the wooden wall behind him, and watched the drunken crowd in the pub. _Would they scream and run if they knew they had Lord Voldemort in their midst tonight? Most likely, though they’d be more shocked to learn he had a flat in Diagon Alley, living a comfortable life at the heart of magical Britain, with no one the wiser._

A drunk witch stumbled into him, almost falling into his lap, and he righted her by placing his hands on her waist. 

“Sshorry,” she slurred, her eyes swimming. Letting his eyes crawl over her, he noted that she was a pretty one. Dark hair and eyes, pouty red lips and a sizable chest. _She’d do nicely for the night._

“Come here, my sweet,” he purred, setting a strong, modified Notice-Me-Not on the two of them, repelling other people from wandering into their corner. Manhandling her around, he settled her in his lap, splaying his hands across her abdomen to press her torso into his chest. 

The witch hiccuped, before muttering: “Do I know you?” 

Letting his hand trail up to cup a breast, fingering her nipple, he whispered in her ear: “You do now.” 

The silent " _Imperio"_ slammed into her brain, making her compliant and soft in his arms, and his cock twitched. Pushing her forward to the floor, making her land on her knees with a surprised squeak, he opened his fly with one hand, fishing out his cock. 

Grabbing her chin, he commanded her: “Suck. Make sure you do it well.” 

Nodding eagerly, the Imperius making her so willing to please, she opened her mouth obediently. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, he's a naughty wizard. For now... ;-)


	3. The Difference Between Friends and Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, there was someone in the past who hadn’t disappointed her - finally, someone was **better**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Severus Snape. *grins*

In the early hours of the morning, Voldemort returned home, tired feet dragging up the stairs to his second floor flat. After the pub, he had met up with Augustus, before the two of them quietly and effectively broke into the home of the Department Head of Magical Cooperation, Barnaby Cordemillan. 

The man had squirmed and begged as Voldemort held him at wandpoint, while Augustus worked his own special brand of … _persuasion_ … on the man’s wife. It was safe to say, the wife had been much happier than her husband, at least until the Imperius was lifted. 

Voldemort himself had enjoyed delving into Cordemillan’s mind, placing a few suggestions on how to approach the French and the Italian Ambassadeurs on the matter of legalizing the use of Mind Magic on Muggles in the European Magical Union. The idea was to put even more pressure on the British Ministry to do the same thing. Cordemillan had responded nicely, and Voldemort doubted he’d ever think twice about why this was a good idea. Besides, if he ever strayed from the path he had sworn himself to, Cordemillan was by now very much aware of what Augustus would do to his wife. 

Letting his wards wash over him - _recognizing him, feeling his blood, his magical signature -_ he entered his flat. Lights flared up, the chandelier above giving off a soft, flickering light, reminiscent of the torches in the Hogwarts dungeon, lightning up the tall shelves groaning with books and scrolls. He Banished his robes to the stand beside the door, and kicked off his shoes, before setting the kettle to a boil with a flick of his wand. 

Sinking down in his favourite wingback, he rested his head against the gobelin fabric of the chair, the thick green cloth feeling slightly rough against his now stubbled cheek. He let his tea steep in the pot for the appropriate five minutes, closing his eyes for a moment to rest. _Everything was going so well. Minchum and Dumbledore were foundering, while he was on the rise. The only thing he needed to secure his victory, was the knowledge inside that girl’s head. That girl from the future - the one who’d show him the path to a complete victory, or at least how to avoid any mistakes. She would be the last piece to his victory march, and he’d rein in the girl before long._

_Though, he had other things to settle, amongst them his plans for Beltane._

Opening his eyes, he set the spell in motion to pour his tea. He took it black, like always, though it had started as a silly adolescent idea of avoiding milk because he was supposed to be _dark._ Little had he known in his youth exactly how dark a wizard he’d become. And, he thought with amusement, little had he known that he’d be this proficient with Household spells later in his life. _Though, why would he have settled for anything less than perfecting the spells he used to feed himself and clean his flat?_

His mug trailed across the room towards him in a steady, straight line, not spilling a drop, and slowly he inhaled the fragrance of the rare Ceylon. Taking a sip, he burrowed his feet into the plush, green carpet, looking with satisfaction at his home. _It was comfortable, filled with interesting artefacts and all the books he had ever amassed in his life, though it wasn’t nearly on the grand scale he deserved. Soon, he’d rectify that._

 _Now, he could do with a little light reading to top off the night._ Summoning the ‘ _Mysteria Fertilitatis: Beltane Potentia’,_ he carefully and reverently rolled out the scroll. _If there was one thing in the world he cared for, it was knowledge. And this - this would help him surpass the boundaries of magic even more, expanding the limits of possibility._

Xxxx

On her second day in the past, she spent her free hours in the library, reading up on the news, going through the backlog of the Prophet for a few months to take stock as to what was happening right now, in this time. _The library was exactly like she remembered it, as the heart of Hogwarts, brimming with the things she craved in her life._ The dusty smell of thousands of leatherbound books, dry scrolls of parchment, polished wood and stone floor was so very comforting, making her feel at home. 

The things she _had_ read about in the history books - _Voldemort’s reign of terror_ \- seemed to be quite real: People disappeared while others were suddenly acting strangely, indicating the Imperius Curse or blackmail, plus there seemed to be rumours of terrible rituals and sacrifices. It was a given that he was behind it all, though it was never said outright in the newspapers. He seemed to be the puppet master, having others do his dirty work. Rumours were flying, and people were afraid, very much so. _Indeed, the 1978 seemed to be a bleak place._

Still, Voldemort’s rise was impacting life in ways she hadn’t expected, and she soon discovered that he had a surprisingly large body of followers. It seemed to be a political movement too, his followers pushing motions in the Wizengamot to restrain Muggle influence, allowing dangerous dark magic and reforming the school system. To her surprise, the society seemed to be willing to discuss his ideas as legitimate. 

In the Prophet, Lord Voldemort seemed to be a steady presence: like a tall figure on the edge of a photo, a half-seen profile in a corner, but there weren’t any pictures of him showing his face. She couldn’t help wonder: _Was he already looking like the monster resurrected in her own time, or was there some other reason? She couldn’t really remember seeing any photos of him as a grown man either, and her curiosity spiked._

Xxxx

The Head couple, pretty Lily and handsome James - _though she almost winced every time she saw them, thinking of their upcoming deaths_ \- tried to make her feel welcome. Still, it wasn’t as if they invested much energy in her wellbeing, and she couldn’t really blame them. _A strange girl, showing up in their final months at school, being two years younger than her classmates, they would barely have time to get to know her before their NEWTs._

At least, they _tried_ to include her at meals. 

“Come, sit with us!” Lily said, dragging her towards the dinner table. The smell of shepherd’s pie wafted towards her, and her stomach almost growled after her long stint in the library. Curious glances followed her, and the voices died down as she passed her fellow students, before picking up behind her back. Nervously, she slid down on the bench by the Gryffindor table, taking a seat between James and Remus. 

“You must be so exhausted. I saw you reading in bed before breakfast, and I think you’ve been in the library every single second when you’re not in class. Really, have some fun with us, Hermione. I promise, us Gryffindors are nice people. You’ll love Remus and Sirius. Peter too,” she added almost an afterthought.

The Marauders were _fun_ , she had to admit that. They were intelligent and witty, making her laugh, enjoying the quick banter. It seemed like girls were swarming over Sirius Black, and she guessed, they had done so for James too before he hooked up with Lily. Remus Lupin seemed to be the levelheaded friend everyone wanted, and Lily was smart enough to discuss advanced Potions or Charms, giving Hermione useful tips for her readings. 

Picking up the newspaper left over from the morning, James snorted with a disgusted frown on his face: “The Prophet’s really done it this time.” He clicked his tongue as he leafed through the pages. “Would you know, they’ve bought his spiel, hook, line and sinker, through those Malfoy bastards. Legalizing Mind magic on Muggles? What will be next, allowing Unforgivables too?” 

Hermione nodded, stealthily having read the piece over his shoulder, as she spread liberal amounts of butter on her bread to accompany her serving of pea soup. 

Remus said scathingly: “Why _are_ you surprised, James? You know as well as I do that the editor sleeps with Abraxas Malfoy! Of course she’ll print anything _he_ wants!” 

Sirius grimaced, pulling a hand through his long black hair. “And what does the woman get out of that, I ask? Malfoy is a stuffy prude if I ever saw one. I’m sure he does it with the lights off and most of his clothes on.”

“He’s probably a good source for Death Eater information for the editor,” Remus muttered, but Sirius coughed something that sounded suspiciously like “ **Slut**!” 

“Boys,” Lily said firmly. “I will have you know, a witch can choose anyone she likes, without the approval from the lot of you.” 

“Oh Lily,” Sirius said, grinning widely, making both Lily and James blush, “I’ll have you know, you and James have our wholehearted approval. Actually, I’d like to _recommend_ that you do it, already!” 

The rest of the Marauders laughed, while Lily and James glanced at each other. Hermione noted, James moved a little closer to Lily on the bench, whispering in her ear: “You heard Hermione, we _are_ going to get married one day.” Lily punched his shoulder, but she also pecked his chin affectionately. 

A small hope fluttered in Hermione’s chest, as if she finally could feel at home here in the past, making new friends, people she _knew_ had good hearts, clever minds and the right opinion about Voldemort. 

Though, every time Peter Pettigrew opened his mouth, a shudder of disgust ran down her spine. She wasn’t really sure how to handle him, knowing what he’d do, but … _she wasn’t supposed to change things. She would have to keep her mouth shut._ That, however, didn’t stop her trying to avoid acknowledging Peter, or outright glare at him if he spoke to her. 

Xxxx

Everything seemed so promising until breakfast on her fourth day. James had kindly lent her the cultural section of his newspaper, and she was deeply absorbed in an article on experimental musical Charms, sipping her tea absently, when Sirius suddenly said out loud:  
  
“Did you see her yesterday?” He was shovelling toast into his mouth, but his hand-waving indicated a sixth year Gryffindor girl sitting within earshot. “She’s getting so fat, the buttons on her shirt fell out during the duelling club when she thrust her wand arm forward. Then she ran off crying, hiding in the loo, silly little thing.” 

All three boys rolled their eyes with a wicked mirth, and to Hermione’s surprise, Lily sniffed disdainfully: “Serves her well. I know for a fact she eats a box of candy each night in the dorm. If I’ve told her once, I did it a hundred times. You’ll be fat, Amelia, I said, stop doing this. No boys will be interested if you do.” 

Remus shook his shaggy head, commenting with a brief glance on the girl: “You’re right, Lily. No wizard is, and no one ever will be when she looks like that. She’s a hopeless case, might as well be a hag.” 

The girl in question teared up, looking hurt, and while the Marauder’s laughed raucously, the girl ran out of the hall, Hermione staring in shock and disbelief at her so-called new friends. 

_This was bullying, plain as the day. How could Remus and Sirius say such things? The grown men she had known in the future would never ever shame a girl like that - especially not Remus! It was as if there was an unpredictability to their youth, as if they weren’t quite the people she knew - yet. It was hard to pinpoint the difference, but suddenly, it felt hard to trust them._

Sadness crashed into her, her grief for her lost future, and she felt suffocatingly lonely. Hiding a small sob by taking a big sip of her goblet with pumpkin juice, she wished desperately for a friend, someone she could trust, who wouldn't disappoint her by being **worse** than she had expected. _Not like Dumbledore, not like the Marauders and Lily._

Almost on cue to her thoughts, Sirius turned his eyes to her, eyes roving over her in a way that made her shudder. He mumbled, leaning closer and slid his arm around her back, his hand landing almost on her arse: “Not like you, Hermione, you look so very nice. I’d like to get to know you better. You know, I could take you to Hogsmeade, out for a drink, or we could just … spend some quality time together, alone.” 

Blinking at him, trying to align the boy who casually made a girl cry with the gaunt, angry and broken man of her own time, she shook her head, answering much too politely: “That … would be… very strange. No thanks, I’m heading to the library again.”

Xxxx

During the first days of classes, she had received endless amounts of curious glances and outright questions about the future. Hermione was quite amazed that so many people would want to know what happened to them. _Didn’t they know the danger?_ The questions were quite broad in range, and she couldn’t help wondering how this reflected the personality of those who asked. 

“Will You-Know-Who win, and will Muggle baiting be allowed in the future? Please, I’d love to know.”

The question came from a hopeful, sweet Ravenclaw seventh year girl, looking like everyone’s girl next door, and it made her grimace.

“Do you know what happened to my family?” The sad eyes of the Gryffindor sixth year boy would follow her for days and days. _  
_

“Will I be Minister, or at least Head of a Department?” Ambition shone from the Slytherin fifth year’s eyes, like he thought she’d tell him how to win the election. That made her oddly uncomfortable, feeling like this was something she might have asked herself, if given the opportunity.

“Will I marry my boyfriend - I know you told Lily and James, why not me too? I love him so much!” The puppy-eyed look from the Hufflepuff seventh year girl made her smile gently as she refused. 

It was difficult to **not** answer, and consequently, after those first two unintended reveals - being from the future and the future Potter marriage - she mostly opted for curt replies and denying people information. Almost quicker than she had thought, people started to leave her alone. The whispers and glances remained, though. 

Luckily, the students weren’t allowed to smoke in the library, and she soon found herself a nook where she was mostly undisturbed, spending all her time there until curfew. Then, she’d go to her dormitory, reading on her bed until sleep claimed her. _There was so much to go through, and she was cramming the seventh and sixth year curriculum like her life depended on it, determined to not allow Dumbledore’s decision to move her to the end of the seventh year impact her grades too negatively._

Apart from meals, the Marauders seemed to forget about her existence, leaving her mostly alone to her studies. Thus, by the end of her first week, in the first class on Friday morning with Slughorn, she wasn’t surprised to see that they hadn’t saved her a seat with anyone in Gryffindor. In fact, there was only one seat left, beside someone she knew all too well. _Severus Snape._

She had seen him around, marvelling at seeing her stern Professor looking so young, and still so very much like himself. He too spent all his time in the library, his usual spot not too far from hers, glaring at anyone who disturbed him. 

“May I sit?” she said, feeling oddly timid by asking her stern Professor to sit by his side. 

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. She couldn’t help glancing at him, noting that he was much thinner and lankier than in the future, but he was as tall as ever, towering over her. His hair was still long and greasy, and his nose looked even larger in his almost gaunt face. 

“Stop staring. Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude?” he hissed at her, and she swallowed, retracting her eyes quickly. 

“Sorry, it’s just that…” 

“Come now,” he drawled. “Did you manage to have a falling out with the Gryffindor set already, or did they send you to sit with the darkest wizard in class, just for laughs?” 

Gaping at him, she suddenly recognized the drawl she had heard in Lily P… _no,_ Evans’ voice on several occasions. _At times, the Head girl sounded exactly like Snape - the very same arrogant drawl._

“I’m not sure,” she replied slowly, remembering Harry’s tale of how his mother and Snape had been friends once. _Friends long enough to adopt each other’s mannerisms, it seemed._ “Maybe the first option. It’s a bit hard, not to reveal anything when people ask. People don’t like it when I turn them down.” 

“Who does,” he said darkly, glancing over at Lily. 

Suddenly feeling sorry for him, she blurted out: “I was looking at you, because … you look a little different in my time.” 

Contrary to anyone else she had met, who were excited to even think about their possible future, he narrowed his eyes to her - _glittering black eyes, just as sharp and focused as in the future_. 

“You shouldn’t tell me anything,” he merely commented, “it’s dangerous. So, are you any good at brewing? Did you have a decent teacher, or is old Slughorn still on the job?” 

Xxxx

“So,” Augustus concluded, standing straight in front of him, hands behind his back as he made his report: “the Ministry is more divided than ever. I can assure you, your following is growing, but it must still be covert and behind the Minister's back. You already have the whole-hearted support of the Department of Mysteries, each and everyone of us waiting impatiently to go beyond the limits of the law for magical research, and the Departments of Transport, Creatures, Accidents and now Cooperation are for the most firmly behind your cause. The resistance is, however, still concentrated in Law Enforcement.” 

At that, Voldemort couldn’t help snorting, and the rest of his Death Eaters laughed too. Tonight, they had met on a desolate Yorkshire moor, going through reports before the raid. The heather was still dry, the stems rustling as the witches and wizards shifted their feet. 

“No wonder,” Antonin said snidely, “the people working there are those that actually are supposed to _uphold_ the laws.” 

“Maybe,”Voldemort drawled, “we should consider _changing_ their minds for them. More actively, that is.” 

Augustus saluted: “I’m on it, my Lord.” Then his shoulders slumped, and he muttered: “If only Mad-Eye was gone…” 

Young Lucius grinned, puffing out his chest. “I have news,” he said proudly. “Mad-Eye has a mistress.” 

Bellatrix guffawed, shaking her head. “Is she blind? No wait - don’t say it, it’s a hag, isn’t it?” Several Death Eaters sniggered, and their robes rustled with a small gust of wind. 

Lucius looked like the cat who got the cream, and purred: “She’s a _Muggle_.” 

A collective shiver of disgust ran through the crowd, and some even spat on the ground. Voldemort arched an eyebrow, shaking his head, feeling amused most of all. _After all,_ _Mad-Eye was … mad._ “Wouldn’t you know,” he mumbled. “Lucius, you’ll hand over the details on the … _woman …_ to Antonin, and then we’ll see about her. For now, is there anyone else having something of note to report?” 

His Death Eaters stood still, boots scuffling, and at last, he nodded. “Good. You know your targets. Remember, always set my Mark in the sky when you’re done. Go!” 

The Death Eaters milled about for a few moments, finding their assigned groups for their missions, and the air filled with cracks of Apparition. 

Nodding with satisfaction, Voldemort took off himself, Apparating soundlessly. The uncomfortable squeeze through the continuum of space was brief, before he stood on the outskirts of a small village. Bellatrix and Rodolphus emerged behind him, before Antonin appeared, stumbling into Bella with a loud “ooomph!” 

From the vantage point of the hill, in the shadow of the great hulking castle ruin of Knaresborough, they could see the small town bathe in the bright moonlight, the river flowing rapidly underneath the great railway viaduct. 

“Shhh,” Bella hissed, shoving Antonin angrily away, before stalking up to Voldemort. Peering up at him, dark eyes shining with adoration, she whispered: “I’ll go in first, like you asked, my Lord.” 

“Lovely,” he said, tapping his lip with one finger, peering down at the pretty young witch. _Married she might be, but her heart firmly belonged to her Lord, like it should. She would do anything for him._ Casting a glance at Rodolphus, he knew her husband was equally loyal. _Loyal to the point of being happily and frequently cuckolded, though Voldemort rather suspected Rodolphus got off on that, twisted thing he was._

Casting out his power, he searched for wards and hidden traps. The Prewetts were strong and capable, the family having fostered strong witches like Molly Weasley and her brothers. _Tonight, their aunt and uncle were on the menu, sending a message that no one associating with the Order was safe._

Heavy wards were hovering over a house in the town. Tutting, he couldn’t help shaking his head in amusement. “Blood wards. Who would have thought the just and moral Order would stoop to such practices?"

Antonin sniggered, scratching his chin. “Wonder what the sacrifice was,” he mumbled. “If it was anything larger than a pigeon I’ll eat my cloak.”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, searching for traces of death, of old, stale blood and pain embedded in the wards. _Images of bleating, of terror, of a sharp, glinting edge, cutting, blood welling forth, flickered in his mind._

“It was a goat,” he replied dryly, preparing himself for dismantling their wards. 

Rodolphus chuckled maliciously. “Hope you’ll enjoy the taste of your cloak, Antonin. They thought they hid so well, didn’t they? Not good enough, blood traitor scum!” 

Raising his wand, Voldemort whispered “ _D_ _issolutus!”_ The spell shone for a moment in the air: Glittering silvery grey, like the edge of a sharp sword, hanging over the Prewetts’ house, poised to give a mighty blow, before it cut the tangled web of wards in two, making it snap, unravelling, leaving the village unprotected. 

“There you go,” he said softly. “The Prewetts of Knaresborough are all ours. Let’s … enjoy ourselves tonight, shall we?” 

Bella and Antonin grinned, while Rodolphus palmed his wand, a faraway, dreamy look in his eyes. Striding forward, his Death Eaters following in his wake, Voldemort knew the Prewetts would regret siding with the Order before the night was over. _They’d be just as sorry as their goat had been._

Xxxx

In the evening, sitting at the Slug Club in a green dress borrowed from Emmeline Vance, a girl from her dormitory, she was once again seated beside Severus Snape. His black dress robes looked very smart, but she could see the glimmer of Transfigured seams on the sides, and she almost smiled by the thought of her stern Professor doing a little wand-waving to Transfigure and adjust his clothes. 

She couldn’t help noticing how his eyes were frequently drawn to Lily Evans, sitting across the table from them, happily cocooned in James Potter’s arms. Furrowing her brows, she wondered if it was the _friendship_ he missed, or if it was anything more to it, at least from his side. 

As expected, Slughorn served an excellent meal, and to her surprise, he also served liberal amounts of wine, with no questions as to how old any of the students were. 

After an aperitif of champagne, then the light, dry Muscadet de Sorcerelle paired with the first course of a delicious shellfish, a large glass of pinot noir to the tender roast chicken and before the finish with a sweet Port - _the taste wondrously nutty with notes of dried fruits_ \- with the chocolate fondant for dessert, she felt _drunk._

Still, Slughorn opened a bottle of Firewhisky, asking them all to take a seat in the comfortable sofas. The sofas seemed to expand to fit the amount of people in the room, and Hermione sat down on the flowery print, smoking tumbler in hand, enjoying the heat from the roaring fireplace. 

Soon, the room was spinning, and she was laughing too much, talking too much, but luckily, the conversation didn’t touch upon the future, instead it was talk of research, magical discoveries, politics and sports. Snape kept to her side, introducing her to a couple of Slytherins who were only too happy talking about the current political climate, telling her at length why their families had endorsed the Dark Lord. 

Bemused, she nodded, listening intently, having never ever been in a situation where people actually explained why they felt Voldemort was _right_ . It was the silliest and most disturbing thing she’d ever heard, but she kept her polite face on, nodding thoughtfully, while trying to keep her incredulous laughter down. _Merlin, people were stupid!_

For a brief moment, she felt thankful for Dumbledore placing her in the seventh year. At least she wouldn’t have to put up with their stupidity for more than a few months. 

Beside her, she noted that Snape was taking more and more note of her, glancing down at her cleavage, though his eyes still drifted to Lily from time to time. She tugged at the neckline, being very aware that it was much lower than any dress she’d ever choose by herself, but it wasn’t as if she had any choice. _It was stuck down there, the dress having a spell attached to it, making it shrink to follow the curves of her body like a second skin._

“You seem to be very well-read,” Snape said quietly, after she had delivered a passionate argument to a Ravenclaw boy on how to use Arithmancy to predict the results in an election, the boy stupidly claiming that Divination - _of all things_ \- would ensure a more correct prediction. 

Hermione grinned at him. “ _You_ told me I was an insufferable know-it-all,” she countered, before slapping her hand to her mouth. “Oh…” 

He arched an eyebrow. “So, I know you in the future? I must be … several years older than you. How, I mean, why do I know a schoolgirl? Do I know your parents, or…?” 

“Not exactly,” she said evasively, not wanting to bring up her blood status. 

“Because if not…” his eyes widened, and his voice fell to a whisper: “I’m a Hogwarts Professor?” 

Blushing, she merely stared at him, but he was chuckling, uneven teeth showing. “I am, am I?” he crooned, looking inordinately pleased, greasy black hair swaying as he leaned in, peering down at her. 

The warmth from his side pressing onto her was comfortable, and as she inhaled in surprise, she noted he smelled good. _Very nice, actually, clean, fresh and something very … male._

Blinking owlishly in surprise, she shook her head slightly. _She couldn’t think like that about Professor Snape. He’d kill her, for sure._

“So, do I think you’re worthy of your NEWT in my subject?” His voice was almost a murmur on her ear, and she shivered a little. 

“Probably not,” she muttered, pulling away, “as I haven’t got my OWL results. Dumbledore placed me in the seventh year here, as I was just about to finish my fifth back in my time.” 

Eyes wide, he muttered, leaning in again: “You must be really good, if he let you jump classes like that.” 

Hermione couldn’t help grinning up at him. “I would have _loved_ to have that in writing, and show it to your future self.” 

Looking speculatively at her, he offered: “We could study together, you know. I’ve seen you alone in the library, and … it’s always better to have a study partner. You’re smart enough to keep up with me. Not many are.” 

She cocked her head, looking at him with a considering glance. “And I know _you’re_ smart enough to keep up with _me_. This is a deal, Severus Snape.” 

Xxxx

Her studying with Snape was a success. He proved to be an excellent study partner, and he was, to her surprise, willing to help her out on some of the things she had missed due to her jumping class. 

“Call me Severus,” he said at their first study session, before he smirked at her: “Unless you’d prefer to call me ‘sir.’ I don’t mind if you do.”

She snorted, giving him a wry look. “You know, you’d _kill_ me for calling you by the first name in the future,” she said. “Though, maybe you remembered me - _this_ \- from the past?” She waved her hand, indicating the two of them. 

He shrugged. “Unless the timeline changes, I suppose I would remember, don’t you think?” 

Hermione couldn’t help grinning. “Ok, _Severus_ , you may call me Hermione. Just don’t take points or let my marks suffer because of this. Remember, this was _your_ idea.” 

Much quicker than she had thought, he became the friend she had missed, even the kind of friend she had always wanted in the future. _Someone who was just as intelligent as her, someone who observed people and the world, but also delivered snarky one-liners, making her laugh helplessly. She had also expected so little from him, so whatever he threw at her felt like a mild breeze compared to the vitriol he spewed in his future classroom. Finally, there was someone in the past who hadn’t disappointed her - finally, someone was_ **_better._ **

He was surprisingly open and ready for her as a new friend, and she couldn’t help thinking the Professor she had known must have changed a lot from his youth. For an instance, Severus frequently asked her questions about Lily, cementing her impression that he must care for the Head Girl. If Lily looked tired, he’d inquire if she had gotten to bed late, while scowling at Potter, or if she looked happy, he’d ask if anything in particular had happened in Gryffindor or in the classes they didn’t share. _He wore his heart on a sleeve, and she felt so very sorry for him._

Her studying with Severus also got her more attention from the Marauders at the Gryffindor table. James told her earnestly: “Snape isn’t a nice fellow, Hermione. Nothing good will come out of this, trust me.” Lily looked away, her gaze clouded, like she didn’t want to interfere, but she nodded slowly. 

“Little Snivellus wants to be a big, bad greasy Slytherin,” Sirius told her, and Remus Lupin nodded, both of them looking uncommonly grave. “Meddling in dark magic, keeping up with the worst kind. Don’t trust him, whatever you do.” 

With the sudden gravity, it was easier to see Sirius and Remus as the adult Order members she had known them to be, and to see the future Potter couple as the war heroes they undoubtedly had been. _As if the cruel mask of them as carefree popular students enjoying their pranks had just fallen away, showing them as real, caring people underneath._ But then again, she knew Dumbledore trusted Severus Snape. He couldn’t be all that bad - and besides, he helped her manage the workload from reading the entire sixth and seventh year curriculums. 

In a way, it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but both the Marauders and Severus Snape had their faults and strengths. _The wizarding world in the late seventies was more … balanced … than she previously had believed. People weren’t just nice or evil, they were something in between._

“Be very careful with him,” Sirius Black’s handsome face contorted briefly into an ugly grimace as he scowled at the Slytherin table, seeing Snape’s sallow face bent over a book by the table. 

“I don’t mind, he’s very intelligent, and I learn a lot from studying with him,” she said a little too pleasantly. 

“Don’t let him get to you. Before you know it, he has abducted you to a ritual with _him_ ,” Sirius said darkly. 

She scoffed. “Do you think _he_ is recruiting school children? As if he would bother with me, or Severus, for that matter. ” 

Remus Lupin turned to her, looking very serious. “Yes, Hermione, he _is_ recruiting. You-Know-Who has several known supporters and followers at school, and just you wait - he’s going to approach you too, like he has done for each and every one of us. We … ” _\- the sweep of his arm indicated the Marauders and Lily -_ “defied him, and I can tell you that, he didn’t like that very much. He’s gathering supporters, and it’s a well known fact that Snape is one of them.” 

And finally, Lily chimed in. “ _He_ is very charming,” she said gravely, “that kind of person you _want_ to talk to, the one everyone gravitates to at a party, so very handsome too, and he seems to offer exactly the things each and everyone of us want the most. But it isn’t true, and he’s a vile manipulator and a killer. I don’t know what you know of him or if he’s there in the future, but Hermione, please beware, when You-Know-Who comes knocking on your door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I _promise_ they're going to meet in the next chapter. It's going to be fun. *grins*
> 
> Also, for the record: Body shaming is in no way ok. Not today, and not in the past.


	4. Beltane - the Rites of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The glittering myriad of golden shards rose above the crowd, split in two equally large bodies, crowning the skies to the oohs and aaahs of the spectators, before sinking slowly down, settling on the shoulders of two people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! Finally, Voldemort and Hermione get to meet. *so excited, I'm grinning like a maniac* 
> 
> And there's a small siding of Severus in this. Sorry, I couldn't resist. ;-)

“My Lord,” Abraxas said, shooting an annoyed glance at his son, “I assure you, the Malfoy family does not embrace _any_ extensions to the Goblin Treaty from 1959. I’m _quite_ pleased with it as it is, limiting the goblins’ influence on the Ministry. Anything more is … most unwise, no matter what Lucius has suggested.” 

Dressed in his usual somber black robes, Abraxas crossed his arms over his chest, staring at his son, clad in pale lilac silk. Abraxas kept his hair short-trimmed, in the fashion of their youth, while his son had waist-long hair, falling free over his shoulders. Though their features were remarkably similar, their approaches to style and clothing couldn’t be more different. 

Voldemort paced the Malfoy drawing room, keeping his steps slow and measured, though his impatience was growing. The Turkish carpet on the floor was lush and soft underneath his feet, and everything in the room had been polished to a shine. The great chandeliers were lit, and flames roared in the great marble fireplace, giving a pleasant warmth to the chilly April evening. 

The younger Malfoy looked unconcerned, even though his father had just shot down his suggested policy change. Cocking his head, Lucius said: “The goblins would be amenable to stop _certain_ transactions, hindering payments, if they only can return to their old position as financial advisors to the Minister. We could create chaos, making the whole wizarding world cry out for a strong leader, someone who’d take the reins and... ” 

“That’s preposterous!” Abraxas snorted, one shaking hand pointing at his son, “you don’t know how much power you’ll simply … give away, carelessly, into the hands of those _vicious_ little beasts!” 

“Enough,” Voldemort said firmly, briefly stopping his pacing. _He was hungry, and these discussions before dinner made him weary._ “I can see the merits in Lucius’ proposal, but also the dangers. For the time being, we will not sign any such deals. Let the goblins stew for a while.” 

Father and son glared daggers at each other, while young Narcissa sighed, nipping at her glass of sherry. Usually, having dinner with the three Malfoys’ was a useful and pleasant affair, but Voldemort had a feeling that tonight would not bring him neither information nor interesting conversations. _Well, at least the food would be good, if nothing else. If necessary, he could stop by and collect a couple of Muggles to release the tension on his way home._

Stopping for a moment in front of a large, gilded mirror, he glanced at himself. Standing tall in his dark, immaculate silk robes, his cowl turned down, he studied his face. Faced with his fifty-something face, he couldn’t help grimacing at his own visage. _Age. How … banal._

For a brief moment, Voldemort contemplated smashing the mirror. Yes, he was immortal, but it was high time he did something about the state of his body. Cocking his head, he saw silver threads starting to show in the thick black hair over his ears, and crow’s feet were starting to form at the corners of his eyes. _He didn’t care all that much about his looks, but the thought of aging - spending eternity as a tottering husk, a dried-up, frail carcass, wasn’t … appealing. He had to make sure his body stayed strong too, not only his mind._

Slowly, over the last couple of years, he had pieced together a ritual to preserve his strength and his body, never to age. _In an endless cycle of eternal renewal, just like spring itself, his body would be strengthened, almost born anew by the turning of the seasons. Now, it was time to act. The rites of life - Beltane - were coming up._

Voldemort sighed, but then the doors to the dining room swung silently open, signalling that dinner was ready to be served. 

Xxxx

Dragging a comb through her unruly hair, Hermione felt oddly excited, like there were tiny butterflies moving in her stomach. Tonight, on 30 April, there was to be a Hogsmeade Beltane Ritual, and the seventh years were allowed to join. This feast had never been held in her own time, but Hermione had, of course, read all about the celebration in ' _Hogwarts: A History'_. The tradition went back to the Founders era, but it was stopped in 1987, due to complaints from parents on all the teen pregnancies resulting from the celebrations. 

With blushing cheeks, the girls in the seventh year dormitory were getting ready for the grand ritual. 

“This is the night,” Lily sighed happily, sitting in front of the vanity, looking at herself in the mirror, “we’ve finally decided to do it.” 

Emmeline Vance snorted, throwing her own long, blonde hair behind her shoulder, as she pinned up a white lily in those red, luscious curls of the Head Girl. “You mean, _you’ve_ decided. As if he hasn’t been ready for that since fourth grade!” 

Lily laughed. “Well, yes, technically, you’re right. It’s my decision, and I wanted to do it on an occasion that mattered. What could be better than Beltane?” 

Emmeline grinned, looking lovely in her silky blue gown. “I know. You won’t be alone doing _that_ tonight!” 

Squealing, Lily hugged her friend: “Oh, you and Robert are doing it too?” 

“Yes! And I’m so nervous, but… I wonder if - what if _it_ picks you and James? I mean, you’re both so strong and clever - what if?” 

“Oh shut up Emmeline, it’ll certainly be someone else, though I wouldn’t mind the blessing! Though we’ll take no chances, you know. It must be the two of us.” 

The two girls were soon giggling, chattering about what they expected of their wizards for the night and where they would go to find a little bit of privacy. 

Emmeline had lent her the green dress again, and Hermione couldn’t help feeling as if her body was terribly exposed, the snug silk revealing all the curves of her body. Nibbling her bottom lip, feeling suddenly worried. _Would everyone run off have sex tonight? Was it really safe for her to go down there if she would be alone most of the time? Because she was certainly not going to lay down in the bushes with a stranger!_

Having never bothered much with the old rituals, she had only a vague idea of how it worked, but at Beltane, she knew sex was the most important part. _And fertility._ She shuddered by the thought of falling pregnant to a stranger, or worse, one of her fellow students. 

“Um…” she ventured, and the other girls stopped giggling, turning to her. “Is it safe, going there? I mean, there aren’t stories about rape or other things, are there?” 

Lily blinked, looking confused. “Hermione, sweetheart, it’s _bad luck_ to rape a witch on Beltane! Everyone knows that. No one would do such a thing, because if they did, they would be cursed. As the fire is lit and the Godsend Blessing is invoked, the Curse of Impotence is simultaneously set on anyone forcing themselves on a witch - or wizard, for that matter.” 

“Oh, I suppose it’s alright then,” Hermione said breezily, though still feeling a nagging worry, before turning back to the mirror, and the daunting task of taming her hair. _Still, it would be fun to observe the ritual._

“Don’t forget your cowl, though,” Lily added, smiling at her. “For the Choosing, we’re all anonymous.” 

Xxxx

Down in Hogsmeade, there was plenty of mulled wine to go around on the cold, crisp April night, the village filled with burning torches and tables laden with food. There was a smoky tang in the air, as if the great bonfire was already lit, though as of yet, the wood was merely stacked in a tall pile. The Hogwarts students were laughing, chattering, and even Slytherins and Gryffindors were mingling, the single girls and boys eyeing each other surreptitiously. On the ground, there was drawn a large, silvery circle, glinting slightly in the deepening darkness, with the bonfire at the dead centre.

Someone was playing music, until a small, bald and portly wizard in virulent purple robes climbed up on a stool, cleared his throat, setting a “ _Sonorous_ ” to his throat, making his voice boom over the throng of merrymakers. 

“Witches, wizards! Welcome to our Beltane of 1978! The Council of Hogsmeade is honoured to serve for another year, and as you know, I’m Mayor Edward Barnaby. As usual, we’ll kick it off by determining who’s to preside over the ritual. As you all know, the spell chooses the strongest wizard and the most powerful maiden witch, _within_ the Circle. Anyone who does not want to participate should stay outside.” 

A raucous cheer rose, and several people stepped outside the circle, most of them older, many smiling, holding hands with their spouses, but also a few younger couples made sure to move outside the silvery edge of the great ritual circle. All the single Hogwarts’ students remained inside, faces grinning with excitement, as well as lots of young people from Hogsmeade. 

The Mayor continued: “Now, cover your faces with your cowls or cloaks, and walk around for a few minutes. This is very important, because we _mustn’t_ know who’s representing the Goddess and the God tonight. They should be allowed to be anonymous ...” - the mayor’s face broke into what was a small leer, though with a merry glint in his eyes - “just in case they _aren’t promised_ to each other. Because we all know what the two of them will do in the darkness of the night, Sealing the Beltane, receiving the blessing of the gods, blessing us all with the bounty of the land and their loins!” 

People covered their faces, milling about inside the Circle. Hermione felt curious, pushing her cowl over her curls, hiding her face. Excitement coursed through her, because… _oh, this was new knowledge! This was something she had never seen nor experienced, and it was so exciting! An ancient ritual, a real magical happening!_

Being two years younger than the rest of the students, and certainly younger than the single villagers, she felt certain the spell wouldn’t choose her. _There was bound to be much more powerful witches than her inside the circle. This was safe, and a chance to experience something unique._ Her thirst for knowledge made her almost bounce on her toes, feeling a flutter of tension and a wild, insatiable longing to _know._

Xxxx

Standing by the unlit bonfire, he waited. _It was only a matter of time. No one was stronger than him, and he’d be chosen as the God in a few moments. Idly, he wondered how much power the maiden witch would have, but no matter that, he had strength enough to do what was necessary._

His plan was fairly simple, and yet so complicated. Tonight, he’d tap into the fertility of Beltane, transforming himself, using the energy from the God and Goddess to stop the despicable aging in his body, the magic diverted, infusing the cells of his body with _life - because what was fertility, if not life? -_ rather than blessing the congregation. The Godsend spell would choose him and the witch, and he’d twist the benign Beltane magic into something different. _A ritual to grant him everlasting youth - or at least not aging further. After he had taken care of that, he’d deal with the little witch from the future, and then he’d be victorious._   
  
Xxxx

The Mayor’s voice rang out again: “ _Deus et Dea, Beltane Revelis!_ ” He swung his wand in a wide arch, and a great mass of glittering stars surged forward, searching the crowd for something _\- traces of power, evidence of magical strength, stopping in front of a wizard here, a witch there before moving onwards -_ before the glittering myriad of golden shards rose above the crowd, split in two equally large bodies, crowning the skies to the oohs and aaahs of the spectators, before sinking slowly down, settling on the shoulders of two people: A very tall wizard standing across the unlit bonfire and ... _herself_. 

Hermione stood entirely still in silent disbelief, shrouded in a golden warmth, like the lights were a warm mantle to protect her from the evening chill. _She had no idea what to do. She had never really read up on the Beltane rituals, not finding it particularly relevant to her own life, and she hadn’t expected to be chosen. Was she really the strongest witch present? Pride shot through her, making her feel … special. But … would she need to do …_ **_that_ ** _… with this unknown wizard? Who was he, anyway?_

Behind his deep cowl, he cocked his head, indicating that they should move. Slowly, she walked towards the bonfire, and he sauntered confidently to her side, meeting her halfway. 

Somehow, she thought he must have expected to be picked, standing so close to the pile of unlit wood. Furrowing her brow, her cowl still hiding her face, she had a vivid impression that he must be very self-assured, if not vain. 

He came to stand beside her, towering over her. Taking her hand, his own palm callous and rough, he said in a deep voice: “Greetings, Goddess. Together, we’ll inaugurate the Beltane, starting the fire, blessing our subjects.” 

“Greetings, God,” she muttered, feeling at loss, realizing she didn’t even know the spell she was about to perform. 

He leaned down, like he had read her mind, muttering at her: “It’s ‘ _Beatifico_ ’. No wands, little Goddess.” 

Staring up at him, she could almost feel his power. _As if there was something lurking in the dark, ready to pounce with great force, as if his power was of a … ruthless, callous and ... selfish kind._

Blinking, she shook her head. _She wasn’t prone to rely on her intuition, but the feeling was very strong, as if there was something wrong with this wizard._

He moved their joined hands forward, pointing at the fire, and something - _his magic, she guessed -_ caressed her own, coaxing it into life, and she felt a curious warmth shoot through her arm like an arrow, and at the same time, she knew he felt the same thing, their magic moving as one, _merging,_ like the magic knew what to do, if not her mind. 

Their joined power felt like a river in flood, unstoppable, rushing forward on an inevitable path, scouring her, pulling her under the current, making her reluctantly surrender to the great rush, like she _was_ the river, made up of a thousand pinpoints of light, swirling around pinpricks of blackness, blending with it - _his magic, and hers_ \- becoming one, melting into a starry darkness charging wild like it would engulf the whole world, and… 

… he squeezed her hand, releasing their joint power, and the two of them shouted as one: “ _Beatifico!”_

Out from their clasped hands, a strong red beam surged out, making her eyes roll back, drunk on the explosive power, holding on to this stranger for dear life, as a force greater than herself roared through her body, a warm, tingling curious feeling, the power igniting _something,_ flaring up like the skies and the earth joined, like life itself was created in that very moment. 

Both of them were gasping, as the bonfire roared to life, sending embers high into the darkening Spring night. 

“ _Blessed be!”_ the crowd roared as one, wands raised, sending sparks of light up into the skies. 

The music started up, and suddenly, everyone was again drinking, dancing, kissing and celebrating. 

“This is it?” she said in disbelief, though the jubilant feeling of warmth, life and unimaginable power definitely hadn’t been _nothing._

The man laughed wickedly, suggestively. “It will be much more when you allow me, witch. I assure you, I can make you feel, well, _blessed._ ” The pride and confidence in his voice proved it to her: _This wizard thought much too well of himself._

Crinkling her nose, she huffed: “No thanks.” 

His stance didn’t change, but suddenly, she felt threatened, like he was a predator, and she was prey. 

Taking a small step back, she almost flinched as he followed her. _That burst of wild magic - what had that been? Was it really the kind of protection Lily had mentioned against rape and assault too? How would she know - no other words than the spell were spoken!_ She had to trust in the Beltane magic, but she certainly didn’t trust this stranger. There _was_ something wrong with him, she was sure. 

“Little Goddess,” he purred, “you cannot deny the God, not for long. Start by giving me a kiss, at least. That’s the minimum you can do to uphold the ritual. We _must_ touch. _”_

She took another step back, feeling the flames of the bonfire heat her back, licking up too close behind her. “I’m not in the habit of kissing strangers,” she said tartly, but suddenly, the man lunged for her, grabbing her, pulling her to him. 

A small shriek escaped her, and then he was bending over her, pushing her cowl back, one hand holding her chin in a hard grip. All she saw was wickedly laughing dark eyes, before his mouth took hers, devouring her, his tongue forcing its way inside her mouth. 

It felt like an ember blazing to light in seconds, a roaring fire spreading through her veins, like she was on fire _, like she_ **_was_ ** _the fire, and he too, they were flames dancing, entwining, moving together in an age-old dance, and he had it right, he had_ **_the_ ** _right, she should give herself to him, letting them devour each other until there was nothing left but smoking cinders, ashes drifting over the silent world._

Melting into him, she surrendered to the rush of sensation for a brief moment before she stiffened. Her body rigid as the magic coursing through her, shock followed in its wake, because she had no such intentions for the night _\- magic wasn’t about to trick her into giving her virginity to a shady stranger in the past, however grand the pleasure might be._

Her stunned silence lasted only a short time, before a flicker of rage sprang to life inside her, blazing up into wildfire, devouring the pleasure, chasing it off. 

Shoving him hard backwards, underlining her physical shove with her magic, she managed to push him away, making him stumble, before she marched off. 

  
  


Xxxx

Thankfully, the golden mantle had disappeared, and she tiptoed around for a while, trying to make sure the tall wizard had lost track of her, before she took down her cowl, rejoining the celebration. 

Grabbing a goblet of mulled wine from a stall, she almost crashed with Remus Lupin. He grinned at her, tipsily, before making a deep, extravagant bow. 

“Would my lady care to dance?” he asked, and suddenly, the Marauder boy, her former teacher, felt so very safe, so reliable, so familiar, like he could save her from the stranger who had played God to her Goddess. 

“Yes, please,” she said with a big smile, draining her goblet, before moving closer to Lupin. He put one arm around her waist, the other clasping her hand. Together, they whirled to the rapid music of drums, pipes and a lonely fiddle, laughing as they almost stumbled over other couples. 

At last, they came to rest, grinning at each other after the wild dance, and Hermione blurted out: “That was fun!” 

“It was,” Lupin agreed, taking a step back. 

Unfortunately, he backed right into Severus Snape, who swore softly as Lupin stepped on his foot. “I can’t believe it… Look where you’re going, you fool! It isn’t even a full moon yet, or did your blood heat up by the ritual?” he sneered. 

Lupin looked terrified, glancing at her, and Hermione realized he was afraid Snape would reveal him as a werewolf. _Almost no one knew, except the Marauders - and Snape._

“Sorry about that, Snape,” he muttered, slinking off, looking ashamed and crestfallen. 

Snape shrugged, a small, malevolent smirk on his thin face. Looking at her, he said: “Dance?” 

Hermione blinked. _Well, so far this night, she had been a Goddess, been forcibly kissed by a powerful stranger and danced with her former future Defense Professor. Why not Severus Snape too?_

Taking his hand, she moved closer. The first thing she noticed was that he held her much tighter than Lupin had. The second thing was, he enjoyed this too much. Something was poking her stomach, growing, and to her embarrassment, she realized Severus was becoming hard. 

Face hidden against his shoulder, she was in an absolute state of shock. _This was unbelievable. This was … too much. Severus Snape was hard for her, and if that wasn’t crazy…_

Dancing for a while, him grinding his hips slowly against her, announcing his intentions, she had no idea what to say. _It was Beltane, he might have had some expectations… But surely, she had never given him reason to believe…_

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, voice husky in her ear. 

“Yes, please,” she breathed, relieved that she could postpone her response a little longer. He let her go, dark eyes trailing slowly over her, making her shiver in the cold night. 

Turning away, he went for the closest stall, ordering more mulled wine. 

Someone poked her arm, and Sirius Black looked seriously at her, a half-drunk girl hanging on his arm with a silly grin on her face. “Remember,” he whispered, “Snivellus might be pining for Lily, but he’ll take any girl thrown his way for the night, so you better be careful. If I were you, I would switch goblets with him. Chances are, he’s put something into yours to ensure his success.” 

Eyes wide, she stared after him, Sirius dragging the girl along to a dark alley, the girl giggling drunkenly as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. _As if Sirius was behaving_ **_any_ ** _better?_

Right on cue, Snape returned with two goblets. He held one of them out for her, but instead, she stepped into his body, whispering “Thank you,” and took the _other_ goblet. 

He furrowed his brows for a moment, but seemed to be satisfied with the way she leaned against him. Drinking from the goblet, she thought it tasted much like before: Mulled apple cider with a fruity, spicy taste. 

His arms came up around her again, and he tugged her closer, his large nose nuzzling the top of her hair. “Hermione,” he muttered, “I like you a lot. You’re such a pretty girl. So smart.” 

Still reeling over the fact that she was dancing with Snape, of all people, and he was coming on to her - she couldn’t help giggling. _Maybe she had been drinking too much. Was this her fifth cup this evening?_

Their dance became a slow twisting and turning, his grind becoming more pronounced, before he leaned down, going for her mouth. Incredulous, she let him. This was actually happening, and she couldn’t help feeling curious, letting her tongue meet his, entwining, as he kissed her hungrily. _This was what Beltane was all about, wasn’t it? If nothing else, she had learned from the ritual that the Beltane power was real._

Groaning, he pushed her against a wall, underneath the low eaves of a house, his tongue deep in her mouth, his hands roaming her body. With a suppressed groan, he squeezed her breasts, massaging them a little too roughly, like he didn’t really know what he was doing, and she gripped his hands, dragging them away from her chest, resulting in him grabbing her arse instead.

Hooking one of her legs over his arm, his hand crept forward, cupping her sex, his large hand dragging slowly back and forth over her mound, making her writhe against him, as he still kissed her fiercely. But soon enough, her brain yelled at her: _You’re snogging Snape!_ **_Professor_ ** _Snape!_

Hermione’s breath came faster, an unwanted, surprising warmth pooling in her belly, and she squirmed against him, like this was so very enjoyable, but forbidden. _She_ **_really_ ** _shouldn’t. This was just her body getting turned on, but it was oh so wrong. So very_ **_wrong_** _. Suddenly, her stomach dropped, as if she was thrown violently forward, like slamming in the brakes on a Muggle car, tires screeching. Her entire being screamed at her:_ **_FULL STOP!_ **

Pushing him back, both of them panting, she whispered: “I’m sorry. I can’t. You’re my Professor, and…” 

He pushed her hands down, his hand snaking behind her, fondling her arse again, he muttered: “I’m not your teacher yet. We could...” 

Slapping away his hand, she blurted out: “There’s Lily!” 

His face darkened in a grimace, and he muttered: “She’s with Potter. I know that. I know what they’re doing tonight. There’s nothing I can do.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said nervously, “but I can’t be ... a substitute for what you really want. I’m sorry!” 

Slipping underneath his arm, she walked away. Behind her, she heard him kick the wall, swearing. 

Xxxx

Standing in front of the bonfire, peering into it, she felt lost and alone. _Was this how Beltane should be? Her Professor’s younger self trying to use her body as a replacement for the girl he wanted, an unknown stranger playing at being a God, forcing her into a kiss, demanding more from her?_

“Not how you envisioned the night, little Goddess? So far, it wasn’t what I had in mind either.”

The voice came from someplace above her head, and she turned, craning her neck to the wizard beside her. 

“I beg your pardon?” Narrowing her eyes, she stared at him. 

He was so tall, it must be the man who had been chosen as the God. This wizard was much older than her, that much was obvious. Dark hair, slightly streaked with grey by his ears, and an absolutely beautiful face, like he truly was a greek god: A straight nose, full lips and high cheekbones. But it was the eyes that threw her: Almost black, filled with an arrogance and power she had never seen the like of. 

_She had seen him before, in the newspapers. Hidden, in half-profile, on the edges of photographs. And now, he was here, power almost oozing from him. No wonder he had been chosen as the God. And_ **_he_ ** _had kissed her!_

Her breath caught, and she took a step back, heart hammering in her chest. Wild panic filled her, and she fled, his laughter seeming to follow her to the gates of Hogwarts. 

Xxxx

_Such luck. The little witch from the future had become his Goddess, and though her reluctance to fulfill the ritual was a small setback, it was of no importance. It could even be beneficial to have a bond to this little witchling for a few days. The girl was certainly powerful, and could be an asset. He could abstain for a while, though it would be … annoying._

Rounding up his younger acolytes, most of them drunk, several dazed with spent passion, he made sure their private room at the Three Broomsticks was soundproof. _His young followers at Hogwarts would be talking of this afterparty for days and days._


	5. Hogsmeade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What, no!” she hissed, glaring at him. “I most certainly didn’t… I told him no!” 
> 
> Snape blinked. “You told him ...no? Him too?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting! 
> 
> Rituals, what can I say? Participating in those might have consequences... *grins*

The day after, on Monday morning, she slid down in the seat beside Snape in Defense. His sallow face reddened, but she determinedly said “Hi.” _She wasn’t going to let this incident - the snogging and his arousal -_ come between them. 

During the night, she had been sleepless, her gut almost twisting into a painful lump, feeling awful - _like she was dirty, tarnished -_ for kissing Voldemort. Her pride took some consolation in the fact that she had pushed him away, but still - _he had his tongue in her mouth, and he had wanted to do more._ Feeling sick, she wondered what had happened if she had gone along with it. _She needed to research that ritual, making time in-between the workload of her NEWTs._

While thinking through what had happened, she had realized that among the people she had met here in 1978, Severus Snape might be the person she liked the best. And that kiss was _nothing_ compared to what Voldemort had done. _Severus kissing her was … forgivable._

“Hi,” he said, his voice almost a croak, and he stared determinedly forward, like he expected her to start deriding him. 

“Did you stay late?” she asked, forcing herself to sound cheery. 

“Um yes,” he muttered. “I was at the Dark Lord’s afterparty at the Three Broomsticks…” 

“He had an afterparty?” she said, incredulous, while shuddering at the same time. _An afterparty. A place to go after the real ritual was finished. And Voldemort had propositioned her. Dear Merlin, before his party, Voldemort had wanted to …_

“He did!” Snape brightened, giving her a quick glance, obviously surprised that she wasn’t chiding him for attending Voldemort’s party. “Did you know, he was in Hogsmeade the whole time, and he told us, he was the God in the ceremony.” 

“He would be, wouldn’t he,” she mumbled sourly, remembering that cocky attitude of his. _Of course he’d be the most powerful wizard. Who would compete with him? Dumbledore was surely too old to play the God…_ Her next shudder was for an entirely different reason. _If she had to choose, she’d rather kiss Voldemort as he looked now than Dumbledore. The man had to be almost a hundred._

“He told us, the Goddess was such a fascinating young witch, so very powerful, and he’d like to meet her again,” Snape said slowly, looking at her. 

Hermione felt herself redden, the blush riding up her throat, covering her face. 

“It was you, wasn’t it,” Snape whispered, his mouth almost by her ear. 

Glancing quickly at him, she nodded. 

Snape’s eyes became wide, and he cast a Notice-Me-Not spell on the two of them before continuing. “Oh Merlin, was that why you didn’t want to…? Did you just fuck the Dark Lord?” 

“What, no!” she hissed, glaring at him. “I most certainly didn’t… I told him no!” 

Snape blinked. “You told him ... _no_? Him too?” 

“I did,” she confirmed, and Snape suddenly grinned, like a part of his shaky self-esteem had returned. “No wonder he seemed a little miffed.”

Hermione couldn’t help laughing. “What? He’s _miffed_? I mean, shouldn’t he be throwing Crucio’s and Imperio’s at will if he’s angry?” 

Snape looked shocked. “Not at all! I’ll have you know, he’s a very polite wizard.” 

“Yeah right,” she snorted, before shaking her head. Gravely, she told him: “Severus, don’t be so naive. I’m from the future, I _know_ what he does. Believe me, everything you’ve heard is true, even though you may not want to believe it.” 

His reply was interrupted, as poor Professor Mandable entered the classroom, limping towards the blackboard, clutching his wand in the remaining fingers of his left hand, the empty sleeve on his right trailing sadly by his side. _Suffice to say, Mandable wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts to teach Defense next year._

Xxxx

Almost immediately, the two of them were back to the normal study routine, to her relief. _What would it be like if she had let Snape have her? She was sure, nothing good, because it was clear, he loved Lily Evans._

Late at night in the library, when everyone else had left, he opened up, telling her about his past friendship with Lily, and how they had fallen out. With tears in her eyes, she listened to the heartbreaking story of him begging for Lily to come out from Gryffindor Tower, and how Lily wouldn’t listen to him. 

“We haven’t spoken for almost two years,” he stated bleakly, eyes staring straight ahead, like he still had that awful scene going through his head on continuous repeat. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I had no idea…” 

He shrugged. “Hopefully, in the future, I have a wife and children, not even remembering this travesty,” he said bitterly. “Hopefully, it’s…”

Opening her mouth to reply, she found she couldn’t say anything. _Because… it was more than likely that the Professor Snape of the future still held a candle for Lily, wasn’t it? At least, he didn’t have a wife or a girlfriend living in the castle, as far as she knew._

He merely looked at her, face much too blank, reminiscent of his older self. “I don’t?” he said heavily, like he had read her mind. 

“You’re the Potions Master,” she muttered, looking at him. “You’re not married, but I have no idea what you do in your spare time. Maybe you have a girlfriend in Hogsmeade, or...” 

“Potions master, eh? Sounds good,” he said, face still closed off. “I’ll go with that. The rest… I guess it doesn’t matter after a few years. At least, I hope so.” 

Xxxx

Voldemort had set his orders in motion, and now, all he had to do was to wait patiently for the next opportunity to get to the girl. Her mind and her body would be his for the taking, and everything was planned out. However, he was starting to wonder if this … _the waiting_ …. was ill-advised. The Beltane bond had proved to be uncomfortably real, almost a corporeal tug at his magic. _As if it told him to go up north, find the girl and fuck her until she screamed. Yes, screamed, screamed his name until her voice broke as he reduced the witchling to a gasping little mess, her mouth open and ready for his tongue, her body sheathing his cock as he thrust into her again and again…_

“Um… My Lord?” 

Abraxas’ voice was diffident, polite, and with a start, Voldemort realized that his Death Eaters were staring at him, looking curious. 

_He had zoned out, hadn’t he? With a glassy-eyed stare, in the middle of a strategic meeting. How utterly foolish._

Clearing his throat, expertly hiding his exasperation, he said gruffly: “Come again?” 

_This was going too far. The bond to the girl shouldn’t affect him like this, but the fact remained, his cock ached for her attention._ With a small sneer, Voldemort slammed his Occlumency Shields down even harder than usual, forcing himself into that blank calmness that could protect his mind from his enemies, even his own body, making him able to withstand both pleasure and pain. 

“As I said, my Lord, we haven’t enough support as of yet to take the motion for legalizing Mind Magic on Muggles to the Wizengamot. However, we’ve scored a major victory on removing the Underage Trace. The Department of Magical Education has approved our suggestion on running a test on the children born of Pure-bloods during the last year. I think pursuing this path would be more fruitful for the time being, instead of scattering our resources on…” 

Abraxas droned on, and Voldemort felt his attention slipping - again. _Gods, he really needed to fulfill that ritual. He needed a good fuck and to resolve the problem of his aging body. Had he known that the bond would be such a distraction, he’d never let her go on Beltane. This was a most ... powerful ... magic, indeed._

Xxxx

To her surprise, she did well in class, holding her own, though she felt like she had never slept less, reading until late at night. She wished she could have her Time-Turner back, just to make time for more reading and sleeping. 

Lily and James were happier than ever, making eyes at each other in class, holding hands in all breaks, and the rest of the Marauders were rolling their eyes and shaking their heads, though they did so with a smile. Even that little rat Pettigrew seemed to rejoice in their love. 

Sirius Black, however, seemed to have a new girlfriend almost every week, going through the girls so rapidly, she had started to wonder if he was recycling them. _Did he have a rotation scedule?_

“You should try to relax,” he told her with a smile, spreading marmalade on his toast, “because it’s only exams, Hermione. This isn’t the end of your life. Have some fun!” 

Looking up from her Transfiguration book, propped up on the pitcher of pumpkin juice, she grimaced at him. “It’s the NEWTs, Sirius, this IS important.” 

“Oh well, there’s a Hogsmeade weekend coming up soon, by the beginning of June. You should go, get some sunlight, because you’re getting so pale, I almost can’t see those cute freckles of yours.” 

Grunting sourly at him, she knew a trip to Hogsmeade would take at least four hours from her revisions, though she knew, she could use a new quill and more ink. _Besides, she really needed to do well on her NEWTs._

She had no family or acquaintances, no security net in this time, and the day when Hogwarts closed its gate behind her, she had nowhere to go - except for the positions she could land by doing well on her NEWTs. 

_When she had asked for an Apprenticeship, the Arithmancy Professor, Septima Vector, had told her “no” with a sad smile._

_“I can’t take an Apprentice while working at Hogwarts, she explained. “I don’t have the time. You’re doing well, considering you age, and I could write you a letter of referral, if you want to approach a few independent Masters. You need to wait until your NEWT results are in, though, and you can’t sign a contract until you are of age.“_

Later, in the library, Snape asked: “So, will we be going to Hogsmeade next weekend?” He was looking curiously nervous as they were revising the 1754 Veela uprising in Hungary, which had caused four hundred Muggles to die. 

“I guess so,” she said, making a note of how the Veela’s had organized their army. 

“That’s good,” he breathed out, sounding so relieved, she paused her writing to look at him. 

_Maybe he had wanted to go with her - maybe this was another attempt to get in her knickers? Nah, surely not. She felt reasonably sure he had given that up. Besides, who had time for such nonsense when the NEWTs were almost upon them? Though, her dreams were starting to get strange, filled with scenes of more … heated encounters._

Shrugging, she turned her mind to much more important matters. _Yes, the Veela army had a Supreme Leader, two Generals and three Lieutenant Generals, the organization being surprisingly similar to a Muggle army, and…_

Xxxx

“Miss Granger, would you stay behind, please?” Professor McGonagall called her out, just as the Transfiguration lesson was over, the students grabbing their bags, heading out. 

“I’ll wait,” Snape offered, but McGonagall said curtly: “Don’t be late for your next class, Mr. Snape, run along now. This might take a while.” 

Hermione swallowed. _Was this about her homework? She had done her best, receiving the occasional O, but mostly E’s._

“I’m sorry, I’ll work harder,” she said, eyes on the floor as she approached the Professor’s desk. 

“What? Oh no, you’re doing excellent, considering your … previous … schooling,” McGonagall said with a small smile. “Miss Granger, I wanted to talk to you about something else. This… might be a little delicate.” 

She waved her wand, locking the door behind them, and Hermione looked up, seeing her stern Professor looking oddly ...compassionate. 

“As your Head of House, I would like to ask you if you’ve made any plans beyond Hogwarts. I realize, you haven’t got any family or means to tide you over until your NEWT results arrive.” 

“Yes, about that,” Hermone said slowly, “I’m also not of age, so it will be difficult to find employment. I want to be an Arithmancer, and I’ve talked to Professor Vector. She did give me a list of Masters and told me she’d give me a letter of referral when my NEWT results arrive. I know they won’t reply right away, so… I need a job. In the worst case, I could go Muggle, trying to get a job as a waitress or something.” 

McGonagall nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve made sound plans, and … I can tell you’re a survivor.” 

“Survivor? I certainly hope so,” Hermione said wryly, thinking about Voldemort. 

“I meant,” McGonagall said with a small smile, “you’re someone who has a will to make it, ambition, if you will, and you’re not afraid to do the work necessary to make it happen.” 

“Oh. I guess so,” she replied, feeling a small boost of confidence running through her at her teacher’s praise. 

“Still, you need a hand during summer,” McGonagall said decisively. “I’ll speak to Albus, there are always tasks that need to be done at Hogwarts. This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had a former student working here over the summer. That is, if you’d like to.” 

Xxxx

Slamming his door behind him, automatically resetting his wards, he strode into his bedroom, removing his robes with a furious, whispered spell. 

Looking down on his naked body, he saw the damn thing that hadn’t deflated at all. All morning he had been having secret talks with the goblins, and the entire time, he had been distracted by the nagging thoughts of _her_. With a disgusted sigh, he saw that the head of his cock was shiny and red, droplets trickling from the slit at the top, like he was ready to come in an instant. 

Supporting himself on a bedpost, he turned to look at himself in the tall mirror on the wall. His cock was jutting out from his body, achingly hard, and he took a moment to admire himself. _He still looked good, the planes of his stomach hard, no middle-aged softness to be seen, and he already knew that witches adored his wide shoulders and height, not to mention the generous size of his cock. In short, despite his despicable, unfortunate heritage on his father’s side, his looks had served him well, getting him whatever - whoever - he wanted._

Closing his right fist around himself, he groaned, hips bucking into his hand, sliding the soft skin through his fist, putting pressure on the throbbing vein underneath. Pumping himself, Conjuring slickness to cover his hand - _like it was hers, as if his cock was covered in the juices of that little witch, the little Beltane Goddess -_ he panted, leaning hard on the bedpost, staring glassily at himself in the mirror, trying to concentrate on the tempting sight of himself. _No, that wouldn’t do._

Groaning, he closed his eyes, his hand moving furiously, and imagined _her_. 

_She’d be wet, soaked even, welcoming him inside, her tight pussy closing around him, so hot, so soft, squeezing his cock as he took her hard._

The only thing to be heard was his harsh breathing and the slapping sounds of his hand and cock, but he imagined little mewls escaping her. _Yes, she’d be moaning, yelping even as he thrust especially hard, her own hands spreading her lips, rubbing herself, laying herself bare and open to his eyes to take in her pussy, the sight of his cock disappearing and returning_ _rapidly_ _between those pink folds making him even harder. Oh, she’d scream, she would shout his name, writhing in ecstasy on his cock, her walls fluttering around him, coaxing him to take her harder, pressing himself as deep as he could go, before his balls hardened, and liquid fire ran down his spine, shooting out of his cock in long streams of pure bliss._

His seed splattered the floor in front of him, staining his hands, and Voldemort came to, still clutching the bedpost, breathing hard. 

_Gods, this was disgusting. Wanking like a schoolboy to a fantasy of a pretty girl. He had always taken what he wanted, discarding witches afterwards like used cauldron dredges, and he had certainly never been distracted by a witch while going about his business. Had he underestimated the power of Beltane, or had the girl’s denial to fulfill the ritual twisted the bond in some strange, unfathomable way?_

  
  


Xxxx

On their way to Hogsmeade, on a fine morning by the end of May, Snape was telling her about his plans. 

“First, I need to go home, but I’m going to get a Potion apprenticeship as soon as possible. I can’t stay at home with my da’ any longer than I have to.” 

“Where do you live?” she asked, looking at him. 

“Cokeworth. Shitty little place just outside Manchester,” he said curtly. 

“Oh. Are there a lot of wizards there?” She had never heard of Cokeworth, so she suspected it might be a Muggle town, but then again, wizards lived among Muggles too. 

“None. My mother was a witch, but she died three years ago. My dad …” he stopped, almost glaring at her. “I’m a Half-Blood,” he said angrily, like this was a sore point. 

“Ok.” She made no comment, but didn’t venture to tell him anything about her background. _No one needed to know she was a Muggleborn. Chances were, that would make things even more difficult for her, though Severus might possibly accept it. Maybe…_

They went to Scrivenshaft’s Quill shop, where Hermione really, _really_ eyed a lovely Eagle quill, but she had to make do with a third rate Fwopper quill and a truly inferior bottle of cheap ink. The Quill shop smelled so wonderful, of expensive ink and parchment, but the only ink she could afford smelled sour, artificial and acidic. 

“This feels strange,” she said to Severus, disgruntled as they left the shop with her packages neatly Shrinked. “I’ve never been poor before. Not rich, but not like this. Having to buy the cheapest things there is, just to make do.” 

He grunted. “Believe me, I know how that feels. If I hadn’t been brewing and selling for the last three years, I wouldn’t have much either.” 

Cocking her head, she couldn’t help asking: “Really? What do you sell?” 

He reddened. “Anything, really. I take requests.” 

Narrowing her eyes, looking sternly at him, she asked, voice low and dangerous: “Surely not poisons or love potions?” 

He looked very uncomfortable, instead saying with a forced lightness: “Look, let’s have a Butterbeer, right? My treat.” 

Grumbling, vowing to herself she’d not leave this be, she followed him towards the Three Broomsticks. 

They ordered butterbeers from a very young-looking Madam Rosmerta, who made Severus’ face go pink when she leaned over the bar towards them, her cleavage just as deep as in the future. “So, young Mr. Snape, taking your pretty girl for a treat?” she purred, not looking at Hermione at all. 

“Uh…” he said, “she’s just a friend.” 

“Right,” the woman said, winking shamelessly at him, the swell of her breasts almost spilling out of her deep cleavage. “You’re such a gentleman, I’m sure she’ll appreciate your efforts, thanking you, just like you … deserve.” 

At that, he became beet red, and Hermione too blushed. _Really, had the woman no shame at all? Did she indicate that Hermione should thank him for a butterbeer by …?!_

Grabbing her drink, she turned on the spot, marching off to find a seat. As usual, the pub was teeming with students, but strangely enough, no one had claimed a small table at the back. “Thank you for the drink,” she said tartly to Severus, making him go even redder. 

He hurried after her, saying: “Sorry, I had no idea why she said that, this was …” 

“I know,” she said, stopping by the table, “this wasn’t your fault.” 

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking away, “but this is.” 

She opened her mouth to respond, but too-quickly, Severus pushed her through an unobtrusive, half-open door by their table, slamming it shut behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh...


	6. "Well Met, Little Goddess"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chill went through her, but then an odd calm descended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another meeting. ;-)

Half-turning back to the door, she snarled: “What the hell, Severus…” before she caught the glimpse of something - _someone -_ from the corner of her eye. 

Turning back, mouth half open, a shudder ran down her spine before her brain processed what - _whom_ \- she saw. 

The room was small but cosy, with a table by the window, the green panes of glass filtering the sunlight into a dimmer shade, a fireplace and three comfortable chairs. _Obviously, it was a room for meeting in private, a room to conduct business you wouldn’t want the rest of the pub to catch up on._

By the table, a tall, beautiful man lounged, long legs stretched out, dressed in black, expensive robes. 

“Well met, my little Goddess from the future,” he said, his deep voice melodious and pleasant, looking expectantly at her. _So very confident, like he owned the world._

Another chill went through her, but then an odd calm descended. 

He would certainly kill her. She would be defenseless against the man sitting across the table. No matter what, she resolved to die with courage, not pleading, begging or whimpering. _Hopefully, it would be quick, nothing more than a green flash of light. Hopefully nothing sinister, not something that would make her suffer for a long time._

Not taking her eyes off him for a second, she jutted out her chin defiantly, stalking closer, before settling on a chair opposite him, not saying a word, crossing her arms over her breasts. _She wouldn’t let him gloat because of her fear._

Studying him intently, she saw there was something odd about him, though, that she hadn’t noticed at Beltane. _Was he wearing a Glamour - did he_ **_really_ ** _look like this?_

He barked a short laugh. “You look like a lioness forced into a corner, ready to fight with teeth and claws.” 

“Apt,” she mumbled, still staring at him. 

“The witch from the future, seemingly just a pretty young - _powerful_ \- girl,” he mused. “What do you know of me, to make you so afraid, so tense?” 

She snorted, baring her teeth. “I suppose _you_ have an inkling.” 

“That’s likely,” he said with an amused tug of his lips, studying her face with interest. 

For all her alertness, she didn’t react quickly enough when his arm shot out, gripping her chin, and he hissed: “ _Legilimens!”_

Her small shriek was quickly silenced, and she felt like she was drowning in his dark, burning eyes, red coals in the middle of the darkness. _Everything she had ever seen or felt came rushing through her mind, sometimes a memory stopped, hovering for a moment, before the rush continued, like a blur - like she was travelling too fast by car, no, like a science fiction starship in hyperspace - mind blowing jolts and jumps through her life, wringing her out to dry, squeezing her life together into a melted, contorted lump, into a package that could be lifted out of her brain and stolen…._

Wheezing, she collapsed forward, her forehead slamming into the wooden table, her mind not taking in anything except blinding pain in her head and the grainy wood of the tabletop in front of her. 

As she tried to get her bearings and stop her head from spinning, the only sound for a long time was a harsh breathing - _not only hers -_ as if Lord Voldemort was in pain too, or affected by the things he had seen in her brain in some way. 

After what felt like hours, though it must have been minutes, she heard the glugging sound of two glasses being poured, and then he muttered hoarsely: “Shame about your blood, though I suppose, no one but me knows. Drink this, this helps.” His voice was gravelly, like he hadn’t full control over his emotions, and she could hear him drink deeply, before pouring more liquid into the glass. 

Raising her head with difficulty, she stared at him. He was very pale, like he had experienced an awful shock, and his eyebrows were drawn together into a deep frown. “What?” She said weakly, because she couldn’t really believe he had offered her a _drink_ , of all things. 

“Drink. _This_.” A tumbler with Firewhisky was shoved underneath her nose, and though something inside her screamed - _don’t trust him - don’t!_ \- she still forced herself upright, taking a large sip, coughing violently as the strong liquor burned down her throat, the peaty flavour too strong on her tongue, choking her. 

The monster in front of her smirked, like he thought her pain and horror was _fun,_ and she glared angrily at him. 

_Awful, despicable wizard, so full of himself and his own importance, believing he had the right to do whatever he wanted to other people. So evil, those good looks hiding a rotten soul._

Voldemort set his long middle finger against his perfectly formed lips, looking more composed by the minute as he examined her closely again. Nodding to himself, he pushed up his sleeve, tapping his pale white wand to his Mark. With fascination, she saw _his_ Mark was green and silver, not black like the ones he had made on his minions. 

From the outside, there was a loud yelp, and Voldemort smiled faintly. 

Her heart stuttered in her chest, as the door opened and a somewhat younger-looking Dolohov entered, clutching his left arm, like it pained him. _Last time she saw him, he had sent her back in time, saying he wanted to abuse her. Was that a memory - or merely a threat?_

Shivers crept down her spine, and her stomach roiled, but she kept her face stony. _Don’t show them fear. They’re feral, like wild dogs, attacking weaker prey._

“My Lord,” Dolohov muttered gruffly, not looking at her. The two men were silent, and she thought there might be some sort of mind communication between them. 

“I’ll see to it,” Dolohov nodded at last, saluting Voldemort, turning on his heels and marching out, still holding his left arm, like it was achingly tender. 

Narrowing her eyes, she wondered about the Dark Mark. _Could Voldemort induce different feelings, other than pain? Because she couldn't see why the Death Eaters would put up with those painful Summonings. She certainly wouldn’t have._

The man in front of her smiled indulgently, saying: “You may ask, girl. I can almost hear the cogs turning in your head.” 

Clearing her voice, deciding that since he was going to kill her anyway, it didn’t matter. _She could at least satisfy her thirst for knowledge before she died._ ”So… could you send other emotions or sensations through the Mark, or must it always be pain?” 

Upon hearing her question, Voldemort chuckled. “Why would I? Theoretically yes, I can, but why would I want to?”

“Just curious,” she mumbled, “people might react favourably to pleasure.”

At that he laughed out loud, white teeth shining. “They certainly do. Other people’s pleasure, however, is generally not something _I_ enjoy.” 

Mirroring his arrogance, she arched an eyebrow, staring silently at him. _He had promised her pleasure at Beltane, hadn’t he? Oh, he was such a liar._

The dark gaze meeting hers almost made her blush, and he muttered: “You haven’t read up on that ritual yet, have you, little Goddess?” 

“No,” she said tartly. “I’ve been busy preparing for my NEWTs. I haven’t had time for such nonsense.” 

“Well, you _should_ make the time. Just a piece of friendly advice: Participating in rituals might have consequences. Though, your ignorance might be a result of your … _unfortunate …_ background.” 

She pressed her lips together, glaring right back at him, the silence stretching. 

He twirled his wand idly between his fingers, like it was a longtime habit, eyes still locked on her, like he was thinking deeply. 

After a while, there was a tug to his lips, like he found something amusing, and he said: “Your mind is very intriguing, little Goddess. I suppose you’re clever enough to understand that the future as you know it, will no longer come to pass.”

Glowering at him, she nodded. _He’d have to be a fool indeed to show up in Godrics Hollow on Halloween 1981, and however evil he was, he wasn’t stupid. Yes, the future as she knew it was ruined. She had, unwillingly, unwittingly, given Voldemort full access to everything that would happen. Of course he’d take steps to make sure his defeat in 1981 wouldn’t come to pass._

Voldemort gave her a faint smile, like he knew what she had been thinking, before he continued: “That’s right. Your information will save me from a rather baffling and humiliating defeat. Therefore, you also have my word, for now, you will not be harmed by my Death Eaters.” 

_But he made no such promise for himself,_ she noted. 

Xxxx

At first, he had felt dizzy, his carefully laid plans rendered null and void by the knowledge in the girl’s mind, shattering like pieces of glass, crumbling into dust. Plans he had worked on for a lifetime, and now, he knew he wouldn’t succeed for a long, long time. _Lord Voldemort had been on a path to failure, and that … couldn’t happen._

For all his work on immortality, her memories showed that he could still be defeated, ending up as a mere spirit, hanging onto life by a thread. _Five Horcruxes weren’t enough to keep him safe, but if that wasn’t enough,_ **_what_ ** _would be?_

At least, he had regained a body later on, but his position, as seen through the eyes of the girl, seemed to be precarious and weak. No matter if he’d eventually win, he had no wish to go through those long years as a defeated wraith. 

_Keeping his body strong through the ritual of Beltane wasn’t enough, not anymore, he’d need to do something better, giving him a stronger anchor to his life, his body, his .. youth._

Taking over the wizarding world in the way he had imagined would not work. The realization smarted, but he would have to go about this a little differently. He had to change his approach. _Flexibility was the key to the Dark Arts, and … he was nothing but a master. But he needed time to think._  
 _  
_And the girl… _Tying himself in this way to a Mudblood, no matter her strength, was disgusting._ He would have liked to take her, right here and now, to be done with this travesty of a bond, but her revelations had shown him that he had much more important things to consider. He could wank a few weeks more as he developed his plans. It wasn’t as if his body ruled his mind! 

Finally, nodding, he told the girl magnanimously: “You may go, for now.” 

He couldn’t help chuckling as the girl kicked her chair back, stomping out with an angry pout on her face. _She had sass, he had to give her that. Most people were intimidated by him, but she was nothing but angry. The girl might be a Mudblood, but at least, she would prove to be entertaining._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, poor Voldemort. He hadn't expected his future to be *quite* like that, now had he? *grins*


	7. Dismantle the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because of her, the entire future had shifted, it had been dismantled and destroyed, and now, anything could happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for minor character death. Or... maybe not so minor (no, silly, it isn't Severus!), sort of...

Like something out of a sinister nightmare, he let her go, just like that, but his lips curled as he muttered: “Au revoir, little Goddess.” 

Slamming the door behind her, emerging into the tap room, the din suddenly loud and noisy from all the people talking, she looked up into Severus’ pale face, standing beside Dolohov, his feet shifting like he was nervous, the slender schoolboy towering over the stocky Death Eater. 

“You!” she spat, including both of them in her contemptuous glance, before marching off. 

Severus came running after her, trying to apologize, telling her he HAD to bring her to the Three Broomsticks, but she snarled at him: “I’m not talking to _you_. You brought me to him, you almost got me killed!” 

It felt good to see Severus Snape falter in front of her, knowing how fearsome he would become in the future, like a small vindication for all those times in his classroom, though nothing - **nothing -** would be enough for what he had just done to her. _Offering her up to Voldemort…!_

Eventually, he fell back, dismayed by her furious silence, but she marched on, anger fuelling her as she entered the gates, going straight to the library. _The future as she knew it was destroyed, left in tattered ruins, and she had no idea what Voldemort would do with the information. What would happen now? She had denied Dumbledore knowledge of the future because she was afraid he’d change things, but Voldemort had taken the information, and would surely act. It was no surprise that Dumbledore was better than Voldemort, the Headmaster had at least_ **_respected_ ** _her choice, though he hadn’t liked it, not by far._

Sighing, she knew she should tell Dumbledore what had happened, but first… Stomping into the library, she searched the section on rituals, quickly finding a book on Beltane. 

Settling in her usual corner, the light falling from the tall window to give a slanting ray of sunlight over her table, she felt both angry and nervous. _Why did Voldemort want her to read up on this? What was so important about this ritual? It was over, wasn’t it? There wasn’t anything else to this?_

As she read, fury slowly rose inside her: 

_In the Beltane ritual, the God and Goddess are chosen by the Godsend spell. Choosing the most powerful maiden and the most powerful wizard, the spell is meant to reenact the coupling of the Goddess in her Maiden form and the God of Spring, bringing fertility to the land and the people._

_A minimum of touch is required to seal the union, creating the Beltane Blessing, but the two chosen will be bound to each other until the union is fully consummated. The bond is both magical and physical, and will only be released by intercourse. None may take another lover until they have fulfilled the ritual. In those rare cases where one of the pair dies before consummation, the other have been known to remain in forced celibacy for the rest of their life, unable to have sexual intercourse with anyone else. As soon as the consummation is fulfilled, the God and the Goddess are no longer bound._

_To be a participant in the Beltane ritual is thus a risk if you are already in a relationship, and most people that are married or otherwise promised choose to stay outside the Circle, though the participants are customarily asked to mask themselves to avoid any unpleasant questions._

_To this day, there is no known way of ending the bond without consummation. As with all Beltane couplings, the act must be voluntary, or else the life-long Curse of Impotence will be activated…_

Slamming the book shut, not being able to read another word, Hermione sat completely still, trying to hold herself together as blood thundered in her veins, a film of red rage tainting her vision. _What the absolute bloody fucking hell?_ She wanted to scream out loud, roar her anger to all of Hogwarts, but… 

...she had to pull herself together. _Merlin, she was going to stay untouched until her dying day, for sure!_ If anyone had told her about this ritual - _an insidious voice whispering: if she had bothered to read up on the ritual instead of joining in like an absolute idiot_ \- this would never have happened. 

Voldemort would just have to stay celibate for the rest of his life, and so would she. Because NEVER, _NEVER_ **_EVER_ ** in a lifetime was she going to do **that** with him. 

Xxxx

Dumbledore looked thunderstruck as she told him what had happened at the Three Broomsticks, and how the future was well and truly compromised. _She omitted the ritual and, for some reason, Snape’s involvement in bringing her to Voldemort. It would not do any good telling Dumbledore she had a magical bond to the Dark Lord. He would surely try to use her in some way to get to Voldemort, and if there was one thing she wanted in this world - this future she had just destroyed - it was to get as far away from that awful man as she possibly could._

“We were actually winning?” the Headmaster asked in disbelief, his voice almost querulous. 

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know what would have happened after I left 1996, but yes, there was a temporary victory in 1981 due to Harry.”

“James and Lily’s son,” he muttered, before he suddenly paled. “He knows... “ Turning to the portrait wall of deceased Heads, he barked out: “James and Lily - where are they? Find them!” 

Hermione stared at him. “Do you think he’ll…” 

“Oh, I’m sure he will, and he has a head start. Did you see them in Hogsmeade?” 

“Not sure,” she said slowly, “but they must have been. I think everyone was going, though I was only at Scrivenshaft’s and very briefly at the Three Broomsticks.” 

Dumbledore’s nostrils flared, like he was angry, before muttering: “I’ll go down there myself. Pray we can still save them.” 

Xxxx

In the end, Dumbledore scouring Hogsmeade to find his Head students didn’t help. The school was quiet, subdued, and many people cried softly, the sniffles reverberating through the Great Hall. The wall hangings were covered with black gauze, fabrics Conjured in a somber funeral black by a crying Professor Flitwick, as they carried in the lifeless body of James Potter, Dumbledore following behind, head bowed in sorrow and defeat. 

The Head Boy had been found in the lake, eyes unstaring, and the verdict seemed to be he had drowned after trying to swim when drunk. Many seemed to believe that, saying that he had been drinking heavily at the Three Broomsticks, and considering his usual antics, there was no surprise he had tried to swim in the lake. _Though, others suspected that young James Potter was murdered, but only a few knew that this was a fact._

Lily seemed to be devastated, but to Hermione’s great surprise, the girl was also leaning on Severus, clinging to him like he was her lifeline, the only thing that held her upright. He, on the other hand, held his arms protectively, almost possessively around her slender body, and when Hermione met his gaze for a brief moment, she _knew._

_Voldemort must have rewarded Severus by giving him Lily. Maybe Severus had even made a deal, not knowing that the Potters would be so important to Voldemort, bringing her to his master in return for Lily, not knowing that Hermione’s knowledge of the future would play straight into his desires. Maybe she even had sped this along, by telling Snape that he would be single in 1996._

With a bitter sigh, she envisioned what must have happened. _Lily and James, besotted and happy, ambushed on their way back by Death Eaters - of course, this must have been Voldemort’s orders to Dolohov - James forced under water until he drowned, Lily Confounded and subdued, maybe even Imperio’ed_ _to revitalize her friendship_ _with Severus. Maybe even Severus had helped._

_Because of her, Harry would never be born. Because of her, the entire future had shifted, it had been dismantled and destroyed, and now, anything could happen. She was guilty of taking Harry’s life, as much as Voldemort was guilty of killing James._

Standing stock still, feeling numb and frozen on the inside, she watched the Potters, those who would have become Harry’s grandparents in a kinder world, come to retrieve James’ body, the elderly couple trying to maintain their composure, though everyone could see their red-rimmed eyes, brimming with tears. Slowly, they walked up between the rows upon rows of black-clad, silent students, towards the casket by the Head’s table. 

Sirius Black came forward, hugging them fiercely, his face almost contorted by the effort of holding back tears, and then the dam broke for the Potters - loud sobs echoing through the Great Hall, shoulders shaking, and they clutched Sirius to them, like they would never let him go. Around her, she could hear students sniffling, crying softly. 

Beside Hermione the two remaining Marauders stood. Remus Lupin was stone-faced, a bleak expression in his eye that made him look far older than his years, almost like the haggard man she had known as a teacher. He stared at the casket of his friend, and Hermione was willing to swear, the only thing that went through his mind would be revenge. _Revenge on Voldemort and his minions, retaliation for James, making them pay for the loss of his friend. Today, the Order had gained Remus as their most steadfast supporter, she was sure._

Little Peter Pettigrew, though, looked shocked, but his bright eyes darted around the hall, taking in all details. Her lips curled in disdain. _Was he already a traitor? No matter that, Dumbledore was aware of it now, and he’d take steps._ Pettigrew pulled at Remus’ sleeve to get his attention, but to no avail. Remus wouldn’t acknowledge anyone. 

Instead, Pettigrew turned to Emmeline, Lily’s friend from the seventh year girls’ dormitory. Emmeline was crying too, blotting her eyes with a tear-stained handkerchief, but she was willing to listen as he leaned in, whispering in her ear: “How come Lily is with Snivellus? When did _they_ make up? Is this just because James is gone, and he’s there for her, or…?” 

“I suppose so,” Emmeline hiccuped. “They were friends for a long time, you know. Maybe she has missed him more than we thought.” 

“Maybe. _He_ certainly cares for her,” Pettigrew said snidely.

Xxxx

The rest of the semester was strange. She still spent all her time studying, but now Lily was the one studying with Severus, and the Marauders were subdued, sad and heartbroken. Remus and Sirius had withdrawn from all socializing, keeping to themselves, while Peter Pettigrew sat by their side, eyes flitting back and forth, always watching them. 

Lily would return to the dormitory late, and in the mornings, she’d Glamour marks on her throat and collarbone, signs left by an eager lover. To Hermione’s surprise, Lily seemed happy, and from what she could see of Severus, he was more besotted than ever, carrying Lily’s books, holding her hand or his arm around her waist, his black stare challenging every boy who as much as looked at Lily. 

The other students shook their heads, many mumbling about Lily’s surprisingly quick turnaround from grieving James to throwing herself at Severus, but others, more kindly, pointed out that this might be a way for her to cope with her sorrow, as the two of them had been so very good friends in the past. It seemed the last faction was gaining, and Hermione thought, that was a credit to how popular Lily really was. _People would forgive her anything, even not mourning properly._

Hermione had tried telling Dumbledore of her suspicions regarding Lily’s turnabout, but he had looked calmly at her and shook his head. 

“Miss Granger,” he had said, no traces of the twinkling old man present, just a cool and calculating blue gaze of the hardened war general: “If what you told me was true, then I believe Lily might be a turning point for young Severus, in one way or another. He is a very promising, powerful young wizard, perhaps the most powerful to go through Hogwarts in years, and he would be an asset for both sides. I believe there’s a possibility for Lily to lure him back to us with her inherent kindness and caring.”

“What about Lily, shouldn’t she have a choice in which man she goes to bed with!” she had shouted, fists clenched as she stood in front of the Headmaster, the tinkling of the instruments in his office an annoying backdrop to the discussion. 

With an air of finality, he had said: “This will play out, Miss Granger.” 

Fuming, she had left, vowing to herself that she would research how to counter the Imperius Curse by herself and other types of Mind Magic. _Dumbledore had proved to be much more callous than she had thought, caring nothing more for the wellbeing of individuals than his dark counterpart. They both ruthlessly used other people to further their goals, and she would not be a part of this. Everyone in the past had proved to be a disappointment._ **_Absolutely everyone._ **

Then the NEWTs started, and even though she felt bad for Lily, she had no time to do research, being fully occupied with her exams. 

The only thing was, with what little time she had for sleeping, her dreams had begun to turn … _even stranger_. 

Xxxx

Finishing her NEWTs felt like returning from Underworld. She was exhausted, and slept for a day, the toll off studying day and night since she had arrived in April finally catching up with her. 

When she woke in her big four poster, the slanting rays of the evening sun coming through the narrow tower window, she stretched in her bed, luxuriating in the fact that she had nowhere to go, nothing to do except … what she wanted. _That of course, could also include saving the world, but she rather thought the world would need to be saved from the ruthless callousness of both Voldemort and Dumbledore. People like them shouldn’t be allowed to win. Though right now, she could allow herself to relax._

Being alone in the dormitory, the room was warm and quiet after a long day filled with sunlight. Letting the sheets slide over her body, she glanced around, a little guiltily. _Should she indulge? She hadn’t done so yet in the past, letting the needs of her body be pushed into the background, because her studying was so much more important. But now… She could do whatever she wanted by herself, couldn’t she?_

Letting her hands drift down under her sheets, she rubbed herself, feeling the soft fabric of her cotton knickers underneath her fingertips. Wriggling her hips, she traced circles around her mound, pressing down on the nub in front. Her other hand traced the underside of her breast, tickling her into a breathless anticipation. _Though, she knew she’d need a fantasy to get off, mechanical stimulation wasn’t enough. But who?_ Shaking her head a little, she decided to go for a faceless wizard. _There was absolutely no one she’d want to fantasize about, so faceless would work._

_This nameless man would be here, wouldn’t he? In her bed, an additional weight on the mattress, a large, calloused hand stroking her breast, rolling her nipple. The other hand would be on her hip, sliding in to pet her sex, tracing the seam of her lips, pressing in at her entrance. Hooking up her knickers, his hand would be on her flesh, finding the soaked stripe in the middle, spreading the wetness out, rubbing her nub until she panted._

_Those big hands would withdraw, gripping her hips, manhandling her to turn her on her belly, before dragging her knickers down to her knees. There would be a hard slap to her arse, making her cheeks jiggle, before he’d pull her hips up, one hand between her legs, a long finger pushing into her soaked sex, while the other hand caressing her nub. He’d pump his finger into her sex, she’d whimper, clenching around him, and then he’d withdraw that finger from her opening, instead caressing the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs, still rubbing her clit mercilessly with his other hand, before a deep voice would mutter praise: “You feel so good, such a lovely little Goddess…”_

Her eyes flew open in shock, but she was already coming with a horrified squeal, her walls trembling around nothing, hips bucking into the mattress, a golden mass of quivering light behind her eyelids, until the tremors abated. 

Trembling, she sat up in her bed, hands clutching the covers, before she groaned, feeling sick. _Faceless indeed, but why ever had Voldemort’s_ **_voice_ ** _insinuated itself into her fantasy?_

Xxxx

Bolting the doors to the Black library behind him, getting ready to scour the darker texts in the Black library, Orion and Walburga knew well enough to leave him alone. Still, they sent one of their old Elves to wait on him, serving tea, snacks or Firewhisky. Their library was one of the finest private book collections in Wizarding Britain along with the Malfoy library, and he’d spent countless hours in there in his youth. Now, he was looking for something he’d never bothered with before: _bonding magic_. 

He had heaped scrolls and manuscripts by the dozen beside the comfortable chair. The library was an excellent room, quiet and set with soundproofing Charms, and so very pleasing to the eye, with tasteful golden and black scrolls on the fabrics, and golden-brown silk tapestries on the walls. The book cases were a dark mahogany, with glass doors to keep the precious books clean and safe, pest-repellent spells in place. _Just the way he preferred it. The dusty scent of old books and parchment, the fragrant tea and blessed quiet in a beautiful room… what more could he want, except for the whole world?_

As he scanned tome after tome, sipping the excellent tea Kreacher served him, adoration shining in the eyes of the old Elf kneeling by the fireplace, awaiting his next order, he slowly pieced together a more comprehensive theory of bonding magic. _The earlier writers had been … lacking, most of them focusing on love or other silly reasons for bonding, but no one seemed to have bothered with deconstructing the mechanics of a magical bond._

From what he could see, he was right to be worried. The girl had a legitimate bond to him through Beltane, and to be frank, he felt it tugging at him, increasingly so. So far, the most promising spell work was a Charm from the fifteenth century by a French witch named Marguerite Denois, which allowed him to visualize the bond. 

Appalled, he had seen thick black strands emerging from him, reaching out into the distance to _her_ , but mingling with incoming golden threads reaching deep inside himself, lodging somewhere close to his heart, to his very life force. _Of course, it would be physical - all magic was physical, after all - but this was an unexpected cause for worrying. The girl had become tethered to him, and he strongly suspected it was the other way around too._

His independence had always been important, ingrained in the very core of his being, and this felt odd, awful, like he had somehow brought shame on himself by compromising an important part of him. _Still, everything could be utilized. Even this._

Voldemort smiled grimly, leaning back into the wing back chair. 

  
  


Xxxx

Over the summer, she was grateful that Dumbledore had given her a job at Hogwarts instead of throwing her out on her arse as the school year ended. _He might be a manipulative bastard, but he wasn’t cruel. He knew how dire her financial situation was._ She had no money, and wouldn’t get a job until she had her NEWTs. Everyone else would go back to their families, some for a relaxing summer holiday, while others would have secured jobs due to connections or even based on their OWLs. _She had nothing: No family, no money, no OWLs, so if Dumbledore hadn’t pitied her, she’d be living on the streets._

She was to organize and repair books in the library. For the first week, she was under the supervision of Madam Pince. “You’ll do, girl,” the librarian told her somewhat reluctantly. “I believe you actually … care about books. Not like most of the students.” 

Hermione grinned at the woman, marvelling at the fact that Madam Pince seemed to be exactly like her future self: Hair in a stern bun, glasses on her nose and a perpetual frown on her sallow face. The librarian nodded, pleased with Hermione’s work, before she turned to another stack of books, and her usual muttering started again: “Students… Ah, their greasy hands, smearing filth on my books, scribbling away on precious tomes, creasing the parchment, little bastards, destroying the order in this library with their dirty little fingers…” 

After Madam Pince left, it was only her, Hagrid and Filch at Hogwarts, even Dumbledore leaving for the summer. 

Everything was oh so quiet, and she enjoyed her time alone in the library, reading anything and everything that struck her fancy during breaks and in the evenings. She read all there was to know on Time-travelling, as well as digging deeper into Arithmancy. 

Though at night, she was plagued by odd dreams, making her wake up in the middle of the night, hot, sweaty and bothered, her legs spread out, as if there had been a heavy weight resting on top of her, laying between her legs, creating a strange, throbbing ache inside her. To herself, she rationalized it as a fact of her growing up. _It was only natural for her libido to flare up, she was sixteen, almost seventeen, almost an adult in the wizarding world. Naturally, her body would want sex, though she’d never be able to act on it, given the stupid Beltane ritual._

As usual, meals were served in the Great Hall in the company of Hagrid and Filch. Despite its enormous size, the room didn’t feel empty without all the students and teachers. Instead, it merely felt spacious and calm. 

Hagrid was nice to her, but gruff, but she couldn’t help missing the friendship she had had with him. _Though Hagrid didn’t know her like she did, and she really shouldn’t tell him._ Filch was a surprise, though. He was a lot less mean now that she was no longer a student, and he had a sort of dry wit when commenting on the news. To her surprise, he made her laugh. 

“Ah, the Transport Department Head is in a sticky place again,” he muttered, squinting at the newspaper. “Never thought his spending would be discovered, now would he? Never thought his little mistress would kiss and tell. How can a man be a politician and still be so naive?” 

“Beats me,” Hagrid rumbled, as he shook his shaggy head. “Should’ve known better, if yeh ask me.” 

“I remember him from school,” Filch said, sharing a knowing glance with Hagrid. “Always with a girl in the corners, always so sly, always explaining himself so glibly. No surprise he ended up like this. _Again_.” 

Hermione smiled wryly, while secretly feeling happy that if she ever became a public figure, no one would be able to say such things about her. _At least, not after she had silenced Rita Skeeter_ , she amended to herself. Turning her mind to work instead, she asked the two men: “The library will be out of ink soon. How do I get more?” 

"You go down to Hogsmeade at Scrivenshaft to place an order,” Filch said. “Put it on the Hogwarts account. It’s easy, you’ll be able to sign it off magically, because you’re an official employee.” 

“Is it safe to go down there,” she asked sceptically, thinking about the numerous attacks she had read about, though recently everything seemed to be very quiet. _Maybe the Death Eaters had gone on a holiday,_ she thought whimsically. 

“Safe as houses,” Hagrid snorted. “Nothin’ bad will happen to yeh in Hogsmeade.” 

  
  


Xxxx

The bond had tugged at him, _hard,_ alerting him to the fact that the girl had left Hogwarts. Voldemort almost couldn’t believe his luck, as she seemed to make her way into Hogsmeade. He seemed to be able to pinpoint her whereabouts quite accurately as he alighted into an alley, before following the trail the bond create, entering Scrivenshaft’s shop. 

Therefore, it was no surprise when she walked straight into him, rounding a shelf holding more expensive ink bottles. 

Steadying her by grabbing her upper arms, a small frisson of pleasure tore through him. _Ah, touching her… So good, so_ **_right_** _._

Her eyes, though, widened in panic, and a small gasp left her: “You!” 

“Hello, my Goddess,” he replied smoothly, still gripping her, while silently settling a Silencing spell around them. 

Trying to withdraw from him, she tried first to take a step back, but when he wouldn’t allow it, she aimed to wrench her arms free, and he had to use more strength to restrain her. Still, he was a large man in his prime, and she was just a slip of a girl. 

Voldemort furrowed his brows. _She should be affected too, it couldn’t be only him that craved her touch? It had to be the other way around too. He wasn’t used to experiencing one-sided physical attraction - at least not when he was the one affected. Witches had always wanted him. Why would this girl be any different?_

The girl was breathing harshly through her nose, like she was in some sort of upheaval. Dust motes danced in the rays of sunlight coming through the glazed windows, lighting up golden strands in her hair. With another shiver of anticipated pleasure, he found that she looked pretty. _He would enjoy taking her, to be the first man who had her, even though she was nothing but a Mudblood._

“Let me go,” she snarled, voice low and dangerous, and to his surprise, he felt her flex her magic, like she meant to attack him. That almost made him smile, because he was sure the girl knew his magical strength was superior to hers by far. 

“The ritual,” he began, but she interrupted him with a low hiss, brown eyes burning at him with a rage that made his cock twitch, hardening slightly in his trousers. 

“No! Never, in a lifetime! I’ll never touch you voluntarily, not even if I live a thousand years!” 

“Such vehemence,” he muttered, pulling her a tad closer to his body, relishing the way she struggled against him. _If it wasn’t for that foolish Beltane curse, he’d take her here, right now, willing or not. But he was loath to risk the ancient Curse of Impotence embedded in the ritual. It might or might not be true, but he wasn’t about to take that chance, as the other parts of the ritual had proven true. He’d have to persuade her, make her willing._

“What makes you tick, I wonder?” he said musingly, staring down into her angry eyes, probing her mind, sliding in with a practised ease, feeling her mind engulf him, at first almost welcoming him, like he belonged inside her, her mind a silky smooth caress against his own, making him feel oddly excited. It lasted only a brief moment, before she tried to shove him out. _But he had gotten what he wanted._ “Knowledge, is it? A good choice, girl. No one can provide like me.” 

Glaring at him, she pinched her lips shut. 

“I’m willing to make a deal,” he muttered, pulling her flush against him, needing to feel her body pressed against his. 

She reddened, squirming against him, and he almost groaned, feeling her breasts squished against his stomach. 

“Come to me, let's fulfill the ritual, and I’ll teach you what you want to know,” he said, voice low and almost ragged, his cock stirring against her stomach. 

The girl squeaked as she realized exactly what part of him that had poked her, her pretty face flushing even more, and finally, she managed to tear herself away from him, fleeing the shop like she had dragons on her tail. 

_But he was sure: She felt the attraction, the bond tugged on her too._

Xxxx

When her NEWTs results came at breakfast, in the middle of July, the Ministry owl sweeping inside, settling on her bacon with a screech, it felt like her heart stopped. _This was it. How badly had she done, without a proper education? What damage to her perfect grades had Dumbledore inflicted by his mad decision move her up two years?_

With trembling hands, she opened the scroll, silently reading her results. 

“Out with it!” Hagrid rumbled, and Filch nodded at her. Both seemed expectant, and then worried as her face fell. 

“I only got three O’s,” she said, her voice high-pitched, almost quivering, tears pressing behind her eyes. “The rest are merely E’s.” _The parchment seemed to mock her, the flowing calligraphy of the Ministry employee seeming to jump out from the scroll, punching her between her eyes:_

 _E - E - E -E- E - E and only three puny O’s, in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy and Charms._ The rest, Defense, History of Magic, Potions, Transfiguration, Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures were all Exceeds Expectation. There was a throbbing pain between her eyes, like her blood pressure was rising too rapidly, and the voices of the two men were almost drowned by a rushing sound in her ears. 

“That’s a great result, isn’t it?” Filch said, squinting at her, and Hagrid boomed: “Bravo! Yeh did fine, didn’ yeh?Yeh should be proud of yerself, lass!” 

“No,” she whispered, anger taking over. “NO!” she suddenly shouted, her voice reverberating through the empty hall. “I did NOT do well! I should have had all O’s, but I **couldn’t,** because I was robbed of my whole sixth year and almost all of my seventh year!” 

The two men looked at each other, and she rose, stalking out of the Hall. 

Xxxx

Her ambitions destroyed - _by anyone else’s standard, this was a good result, though not exceptional, but for her, it was disastrous -_ she walked through the grounds, fuming, her body filling with a kind of terrible anger, like it wasn’t _enough_ to stomp her feet. Her wounded pride roared inside her: _She was NOT mediocre! She was supposed to be brilliant, intelligent, one-of-a-kind, special - the brightest witch of her age, but with this result, like a lightning strike, she was not._

Energy and power crackled through her, building up, and finally, she couldn’t take it anymore, her body tensing, yelling something incomprehensible as she clenched her fists, before flinging her arms out. 

Power rushed out of her, uncontrollably, gouging deep furrows in the ground, blasting out, annihilating brambles and bushes in front of her, pulverizing them, before the surge careened wildly into the trees, uprooting a few and breaking off large branches and boughs on others, before it petered out. Birds flapped out, circling the sudden destruction, screeching in surprise. 

Chest heaving, she stared at the havoc she had wreaked, almost surprised that she alone could do such a thing. The lawn was destroyed, looking like a mad farmer had gone crazy while plowing, crisscrossing the grass with deep furrows, and the trees lay pell-mell, broken branches making an almost impenetrable wall several metres high, the tree trunks bare, like an insane giant had decided to make poles out of living trees. 

_And she had done all that. The most powerful maiden at Beltane indeed. Oh, she’d show them yet, lousy results or no._

In a sort of resigned despair, she started to laugh helplessly, sinking down to her knees. 


	8. It takes two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you wish to make a scene?” He cocked his head, looking at her calculatingly, still holding out his hand. 
> 
> Glancing quickly around, she saw that people were staring at them, some even whispering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and for reading! <3 
> 
> I'm always amazed that there are so many people rooting for this twisted ship, lol.

The summer continued to be quiet, and the castle slowly heated up during the relentless July sun, like it was accumulating heat inside the thick grey stone walls, making the library feel hot and stifling. Strangely enough, there was no news of Death Eater activity: No one was abducted, no one was killed. It was as if Voldemort had disappeared from the face of the earth after she ran into him in Hogsmeade. However, Hermione felt sure they would have no such luck. 

At least, he hadn’t disappeared from her mind, because whenever she was in the mood for touching herself, it always came back to her imagining his voice. Or his hands, or … _him_ , really. 

Every single time it happened, she stopped herself, opting to read instead or take a walk, wandering the quiet corridors at night, feeling frustrated and angry. Though mentally, she patted her back for stopping herself. _She was strong, wasn’t she? Steadfast, not someone who’d fantasize about the Dark Lord, of all people._

In the beginning of August, Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts, looking like he had spent days outside, basking in the sun. Hermione got a vivid but uncomfortable impression in her head of Dumbledore in a beach chair, wearing tiny purple bathing shorts, with a colourful umbrella drink in his hand and large sunglasses on his crooked nose. 

Shaking her head to clear the view, she tried to repress the idea, because… this was silly, really. _He’d probably been gardening, not lounging almost naked in the sun. Yes, gardening it was!_

The old man grinned at her, like he knew what she was thinking, but made no comment. 

“I would like to induct you in the Order as soon as you turn seventeen,” he told her, blue eyes grave. “You will be an asset to us, though right now, I have no idea what Tom is doing. To be frank, this quiet period worries me. Is he plotting something big, or is he merely reworking his plans, based on what he learned of the future?” 

“I see,” she answered carefully, not mentioning his offer to let her join the Order. _In her life in the future, she would have jumped at the opportunity, but not now. Now, she felt as if this wasn’t her war at all, because this past had ripped her dreams to shreds, destroying her ambitions and any meaningful relations she had ever had with other people. The Order and Voldemort could go and hang themselves_. _Preferably together._

Instead, she had been reading up on French Arithmancers, before reaching out to some of them for an Apprenticeship, having decided to remove herself from the war effort in Britain. _Her presence had destroyed enough: She had caused Harry to not be born, thus removing the one person who could defeat Voldemort. It would be better if she just went away. Though, with her school results being what they were, she didn’t expect any self-respecting masters to jump at the opportunity to teach her._

Only a day after Dumbledore’s return to Hogwarts, Voldemort re-emerged. The front page of the Prophet blazed against her, his handsome face covering the entire page, head lowered humbly. 

Hermione snorted. _As if the man even knew what that word meant_. Still, she could barely rip her eyes from the newspaper, feeling a strange pull towards him, as if she … _liked_ … to look at him. 

Apparently, he had convinced the Daily Prophet, because it told a sob story of repentance, complete with his life as a misunderstood, brilliant orphan, even mentioning his real name and heritage. Supposedly, he had seen the error of his ways, though he claimed he had - _of course_ \- never harmed anyone. Now, he was instead set on working through the political structures of the government, taking up his rightful place in the Wizengamot, due to being a descendant of the Gaunt family. 

Rolling her eyes, she met Dumbledore’s eyes, and he just shook his head. Looking severe, he said slowly: “Many will buy this, hook, line and sinker, and I have no doubt he’ll just continue his work from inside the system, undermining us all. But we - the Order - know better. _You_ know better, Hermione. This man is just as dangerous today as he was yesterday.” 

“Without doubt,” she answered curtly. _The fact that no one openly opposed Voldemort to demand his incarceration in Azkaban for his crimes, was a testament to how successful Voldemort’s reign of terror had been._ With a sinking feeling, she realized that the Ministry would just roll over, letting him pretend he had been nice all along. _Was the Order equipped to handle a Voldemort that seemingly played by the rules?_

Hagrid shook his shaggy head. “Bastard!” he spat, “he’s an arse, isn’t he?” 

Dumbledore spared Hagrid a small smile: “Indeed.” 

That night, sleep was a long time coming. The pull she had felt when seeing his picture had manifested into a dull throbbing between her legs, but she refused to give in to her body. Throughout the night, his face haunted her dreams. Upon waking, she still lingered in that half-state between dream and reality, and her hands slowly slid between her legs. 

_She was on her knees, her mouth busy, trailing kisses along a warm, hard shaft. Whoever it was, he was big, with hard ridges and veins riddling his cock. The head was plush velvet in her mouth, and she licked a salty drop from the slit on the tip._

_One of her hands inched inside her knickers, and she was furiously rubbing herself, while supporting herself on his hip with the other. Opening her mouth with a whimper, she took him inside, sucking on the bulbous head, but he wanted more, sliding his cock deeper in her mouth._

_Dear Merlin, she would come like this, masturbating at this man’s feet with his thick cock in her mouth._

_Letting her eyes move upwards, she first noticed how very tall he must be, and…_

Her heart almost stopped upon realizing who this was, and with a frustrated shriek, she ripped her hands out of her knickers, feeling as if she had done something wrong, something unforgivable. _In her mind, she had seen black, glittering eyes stare down at her, a speck of red glinting in the middle. Oh Merlin, not again..!_

Shuddering with revulsion, she felt as if there was a physical bond between them, growing more taut, a pull on her magic towards him, making her body and her very mind gravitate towards him. _As if there was something demanding that she’d fulfill the Beltane ritual._

Xxxx

To her surprise, she learned that the Ministry held a formal ball to celebrate the students who had finished their education, welcoming them into the adult life of the wizarding world. The ball was to be held on Friday 11 August, and the thick, expensive vellum on the invitation proved that this was a grand occasion. 

“Is this something they do every year?” she asked, having never read anything about it. 

“Aye,” Hagrid said, mouth full of dinner, “yeh should go, it’s always fun. Lots n’ lots of people there. And, the Ministry’s on the lookout for new employees, yeh know. Could be a job for yeh, if yeh’re interested.” 

“Oh,” she said, brightening up. _She wasn’t particularly interested in meeting her class again, after all, she had only known them for two months before the school year ended. But given that her NEWTs weren’t as good as she had hoped for, she would need a job very soon, because her meagre savings from her summer job wouldn’t get her very far. Getting the right Apprenticeship might take time._

Frowning, she realized that she’d have to spend some of her money on a proper gown. _Well, if that meant she could secure a job afterwards, then it wouldn’t be so bad._

Xxxx

His cock twitched to life, rising at half-mast the moment he saw her. It was embarrassing, really, because he was far too old for these kinds of reactions. _And the girl surely wasn’t worth it, she shouldn’t warrant such a reaction from him, filthy-blooded little witchling that she was._

Voldemort shifted on his feet, mindlessly accepting another drink from the floating trays, while nodding politely to the Head of Accidents and Catastrophes, half-heartedly keeping up the conversation, but his eyes stayed riveted to the girl. 

The ballroom was filled with people and bright lights, an orchestra played by the dance floor, and the sounds of laughter and people chatting floated over the music. Still, it was as if a rushing sound blocked his ears, like his own blood had become suddenly, unexpectedly too loud. 

Reluctantly, he had to admit she looked delicious, like a tasty little morsel, all dressed up in what had to be black, prim robes.The wide skirt flared out as she moved, fitting snugly around her upper body, and while the high collar showed no cleavage, it left her arms bare. She sported no jewellery, and had kept her unruly hair pinned up, letting a few curls trail around her neck and throat, to lead the attention away from her lack of jewellery. 

To him, it was obvious she aimed to look elegant, and she had partly succeeded, though everyone could see she was nothing but poor, in what was clearly Transfigured second-hand robes. _The Transfiguration work was decent, though_ , he noted. In all likelihood, the girl was hunting for a job. _She would need to get by and… he could offer, couldn’t he? No matter that he needed to fuck her to perform the ritual, to stay eternally young, the fact remained, she’d be a useful addition to his followers. Smart, fierce and powerful, and he’d be able to fuck her as much as he… No, wait, this was the dangerous, insidious Beltane bond talking, not him, because he surely didn’t need her except for the ritual, not at all._

“And you know, the Muggles were all over the place, and I had to send in a second team of Obliviators, and…” The old Department Head droned on, gesticulating in his purple robes, telling him a complicated story on how they had struggled to clean up after one of Voldemort’s own raids. _It would have been amusing, if he wasn’t so preoccupied watching the girl._

She had arrived through the Floo with Dumbledore and MacGonagall, and from her expression, it was clear that she thought the other witches had dressed simply scandalously. Nodding to the man at his side, he hid a smirk by taking a sip from his wine glass, leaning against the cool marble column at his back, standing half-hidden underneath one of the arches circling the room. 

Eyes wide, the girl stared at plunging necklines, high slits going too-high up and almost see-through, revealing fabrics clinging to hips and arses. He wasn’t the only one grinning, because that bint, McGonagall, hid a smile behind her hand as she saw the girl’s flabbergasted expression, pulling her a few steps away from the Headmaster. 

_Soon, the girl would be on her own in the ballroom, and then he’d approach her._ The bond tugged at him, craving her touch, demanding that he’d fulfill the ritual. With a repressed groan, Voldemort felt like he’d _burst_. 

  
  


Xxxx

“Miss Granger,” the proper old witch said, almost chuckling, “you must see, for many young witches this ball is first and foremost an opportunity to find a husband, not a job. And those who _are_ in a relationship, are proud to display their … charms … on the arm of their boyfriend. Don’t look so shocked, it has been like this for ages, even in my time.” 

Shaking her head, Hermione muttered: “I don’t think people do this in my time, at least, I’ve never heard of this ball.” 

McGonagall shrugged, patting her shoulder: “Maybe, my dear, that is a good sign. Maybe young girls in your time spend more time looking for a job than a man. Oh, what a bright future that must be!” 

The dances seemed to be very formal, though the clothing was not, and witches and wizards swirled around in Viennese waltzes, tango, foxtrots, quicksteps and slow, stately waltzes, their robes and gowns creating a blurred mass of vibrant colours on the dance floor. 

Working the room with her two Professors made for a lot of introductions, and quite a few Department Heads gave her their card, asking her to apply, being curious of the girl from the future. They did so with a condescending smile, though, knowing that she was much younger than the usual Hogwarts candidates. 

_Though, something was off._ She felt as if she was much too hot, and at times she had to tug at her high collar, like her body was abnormally heated considering the cool, pleasant air in the ballroom, caused by the Ministry’s expertly set Cooling Charms. Still she was pleased by the offers, vowing silently that she would show them just how good Hermione Granger really was. _She’d be the best in whatever profession life threw at her!_

As she moved through the grand room, she smiled politely and waved to her earlier classmates, but paid them little attention. _They couldn’t offer her any jobs, not as far as she knew, and she had more important things on her mind than making idle chitchat with people she barely knew._

Remus and Sirius stood in a corner, half-hidden by a marble column, both looking serious and grave, only keeping to each other, talking quietly, though they waved back at her. They both seemed to have grown during summer, looking so much more like the two men she had known in her own time, like the careless attitude of their youth had been swept away by James’ death. 

Then she stopped short, feeling rage spike inside her. With an effort, she managed to hold back a sneer, seeing Severus dancing slowly with Lily. _This was a travesty, that’s what it was - abuse and mind rape, not to mention the physical aspect. As for what Severus had done to herself…_

Keeping her face fixed into a polite, interested expression as she listened to a witch from high up in the Department of Transport telling her that they expected the prices for brooms to rise due to a shortage of imported Yew twigs, she observed the couple as they gracefully moved across the dance floor. Dumbledore and McGonagall had hastily excused themselves, retreating as if they had known just how boring this conversation would be, like they had gotten the same speech on broom prices before. 

Hermione wasn’t surprised to see Lily looking happy, oblivious in her obviously Imperio’ed love affair, dressed in a pretty green gown. But Severus seemed to be disgruntled, looking over Lily’s shoulder like he wanted to be anywhere but here, like he was thoroughly miserable. _Frankly, it hurt seeing him. His betrayal had been such a nasty surprise, because she had really believed him to be her friend. All summer, she had tried to avoid thinking about him, and now he was right in front of her, flaunting his prize for everyone to see._

With a small sneer - _he deserved unhappiness, despicable traitor that he was -_ she waved at him, a malicious glint in her eyes by the thought of him feeling wretched. 

Severus merely arched an eyebrow lazily, looking so much like her older Professor that she almost felt a small shock going through her, like he too had grown up much too fast over the summer, but he continued to lead Lily across the floor, holding her tucked into his chest with careful and precise movements. 

Excusing herself from the conversation, having had more than her fill of broom prices, she turned around, colliding into someone very tall. Power prowled across her consciousness, like the man in front of her held a vast reservoir waiting to pounce on her, if he chose to open the floodgates. 

Her glance dragged slowly up to his face, but she was ready to bolt when he grabbed her hand, bowing down to kiss her hand. A current of **_something_** _, like a flash fire, a lightning bolt,_ shot through her, electrifying her senses, burning a fiery path through her belly, like bliss blooming suddenly, unexpectedly. She gasped, and simultaneously, she could see he felt it too, by the way his eyes widened in surprise. 

“Would you do me the honour?” he asked, his other hand indicating the dance floor. His voice made something skitter across her nerves, remembering how his voice seemed to lodge itself in her mind, disturbing her every time she tried to do a little ... _stress relief_ … by herself. 

Voldemort didn’t even bother to recognize the Ministry witch Hermione had been talking to, though the woman piped up with a tremulous smile: “Good evening, Lord Voldemort,” like the witch was half afraid, half fascinated. 

Instead, he held out his hand, beckoning Hermione to take his offer to dance. That cocksure confidence grated on her nerves, but the overwhelming feeling of his power threw her, and that bond - _that damnable bond_ \- was pulling her to him, **hard**. 

Staring up at him, she said much more weakly than she liked: “I don’t dance. I have never learned “ - _her hand sweept the room_ \- “to dance like that.” She chose to omit the one dancing lesson McGonagall had given them before the Yule ball in her fourth year, because in her opinion, she hadn’t learned a _thing_. _At least, her dancing ability was not up to the standard Hermione Granger held herself to. And she most certainly wouldn’t dance with Lord Voldemort._

He chuckled, dark eyes glinting at her, purring: “I’ll get you through it. Trust me.” 

“I’d rather not,” she snapped in return, feeling trails of hot and cold travel down her spine, making her shiver. 

“Do you wish to make a scene?” He cocked his head, looking at her calculatingly, still holding out his hand. 

Glancing quickly around, she saw that people were staring at them, some even whispering. 

“My standing in the Ministry is on the rise,” he said silkily. “You might not want to openly antagonize me at this point, will you? That is, if you’re looking for a job. People seldom hire rude witches who cause public scenes.” 

With a small snarl, she knew he was right, even though this was nothing but blatant blackmail. She took his hand - _it was warm and calloused, just like she remembered from Beltane, as if she knew the contours of his palm by heart -_ and his other hand came firmly around her waist, sliding up until he reached the middle of her back, before bending her backwards, holding her tight, and he swept her expertly away in a Viennese waltz. 

_It felt so easy, like she was floating across the polished dance floor, and for a moment, she managed to lose herself into the feeling of being a good dancer. But she knew, she was not, and the man who held her still made shivers race down her spine, and not in a good way._ Swallowing, she told herself sternly: **_Not_ ** _in a good way!_

He kept a fixed smile on his face, and though she realized it must be fake, it was surprisingly authentic, but his dark eyes were just as cold as she expected. Staring up at him, she thought he was far too good looking, the kind of man you would never trust, because literally every single woman in the room would be drooling after him. Crinkling her nose, like she smelt something bad, she realized with a small shock that currently, the only woman in the room who would get him to bed would be her. _And she didn’t want to at all, no matter her odd dreams and unruly fantasies!_

“So,” he said, his tone light and conversationally, “are you set up with an Apprenticeship yet?” 

Glaring at him, she had already experienced her first refusals, the Masters she had approached having cited her less than stellar NEWT results as the reason for saying no. Opting to just shake her head, she said nothing, not wanting to reveal anything to _him_. 

“Oh. That must be … unfortunate.” He licked his lips, still looking at her. 

Grudgingly, she muttered: “I’m not seventeen yet.” 

“I know,” he said with a small shrug, like he didn’t _care_ about the age difference, like the fact that he was a grown man and she just a young girl didn’t matter, as if their accursed bond was nothing but a trifle. “Thus, you’re still not old enough to sign a contract.” 

“Right.” She pinched her lips, feeling as if steam were boiling inside her, a strange mix of powerless rage and strong need, needing a release, needing to… Hermione stopped herself short, not letting her thoughts go _that_ way. 

They swirled around the floor a few more times, before he suddenly said, out of the blue: “I offer you an Apprenticeship with me.” 

Blinking for a moment, missing a beat, she laughed, incredulous, shaking her head. 

He looked slightly irritated, glaring down at her, saying: “This is an honour. I’ve never taken an Apprentice before.” 

“I can well imagine _that_ ,” she quipped dryly. “The answer is no, though I don’t doubt you’ll teach me more than even _I_ want to learn.” _Apprentice to Voldemort…! The very idea was preposterous. As if she wanted to learn the finer points of the Cruciatus or the Killing Curse…!_

He shrugged, like he had read her mind. “I am a Master of Magical Theory, Dark Arts, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. You’ll find I’m more than well-versed in Transfiguration, Potions and Herbology too. No one can teach you more than I.” 

Being who she was, she felt the temptation _. To learn all that, the pull to learn more, to learn from the best - but … he wasn’t the best. He was the_ **_worst_** _. And why would he offer? There had to be an ulterior motive, though she couldn’t even begin to imagine what it could be. Or maybe it was like Remus had said once: He’d offer people the things they wanted most to recruit them. For her, it would be knowledge, wouldn’t it? Hadn’t he said as much to her in Hogsmeade? And deep inside, she knew he had been right._

“No,” she said angrily. “Not _you_. Not ever.” 

Then the music morphed into a tango.

His grip around her waist changed, and suddenly, his eyes became almost predatory. Hitching her breath, she took a step back, but he followed, his large frame moving like a cat, stalking her, before he pulled her to him. 

This dance, the tango, was nothing like the airy floating of the Viennese, and everything about being hunted by her enemy, fighting him every step of the way. She accepted the challenge in his eyes, and...

_… he would bend her backwards, hands sliding over her body with a caress she never wanted, before she’d twirl away, moving away from him. Somehow, without her conscience really being in on it, it became a game of teasing, of turning him away, but he would relentlessly stalk her, pulling her closer, capturing her, using his superior strength and height to reign her in. Heart hammering in her chest, blood thrumming in her veins like liquid fire, she’d let him, pretending submission, before thwarting him, shoving him away. The triumphant grin on his face as he forced her body to contort in his arms, bending her back, even lifting her leg to hook around his thigh spurred her on, giving him a wicked smile in return as she escaped…_

...and the music ended, with him grabbing hold of her, leaning in, his body bent over her, mouth only inches from hers, hot breath fanning across her lips, making her mouth feel dry, her chest gasping for air, like he had stolen her breath and corrupted the thrumming of her pulse. 

There was applause and whistling from around them, but his eyes never left hers, making her feel as if she was drowning. What she saw in that darkness scared her: _Lust. Desire. Want. And those emotions were not something she wanted him to feel in relation to her._

His voice almost a low growl, he said: “Aren’t you a passionate one, little Goddess. Come to me, and you can have it all. Knowledge _and_ bliss.” 

Licking her lips, she whispered, though that damnable bond screamed at her to accept: “No. Never.” 

Pulling away, though it was hard, she stalked off, not acknowledging the fact that people had been watching, that spectators had been standing in a ring around the two of them, still applauding the performance. The ring parted for her, and as she moved through the crowd, she saw Severus give her a long glance, like he had seen something strange, something he needed to consider carefully. 

Returning to McGonagall’s side, the old witch pinched her mouth shut, frowning at her. “Indecent, that’s what it was, and with _him_ , no less,” she mumbled, before she made a show of walking away, getting herself another drink, as if Hermione dancing was _more_ indecent than all those half-naked witches swarming the room in scandalous dresses. 

Dumbledore merely stared balefully at her, before he too walked off, muttering to himself, his long beard wafting with the force of his brisk steps, going straight towards the group surrounding the Minister. 

Standing there alone, she glanced around, seeing if anyone noticed that the Order had removed themselves from her, like the two Professor didn’t want to associate themselves with her after Voldemort danced with her. 

Luckily, it seemed like few people had. Voldemort had, of course, and his wicked smirk made her freeze. _He had planned this, trying to put her in a bad light._

Standing still, taking a deep breath, she decided to head for the Floo connections in the Ministry Atrium. _She had made enough of an appearance, hadn’t she, to secure a job? She could leave, because now all people would ask her would be if she knew Voldemort. As if she wanted to answer that!_

In the large, empty Atrium, her steps rang out on the floor as she went straight for the row of fireplaces. 

“Hermione!” Sirius Black called her out, quick steps coming from behind her. 

She swirled around, already defensive, ready to tell him, _no, she wasn’t on Voldemort’s side._

He stopped a few metres away, dark hair unruly and messy. Panting, he said: “I saw your face. We believe you, you’re not with him. But you mustn’t leave! Not now!”

A warmth bloomed in her chest, as if the feeling that someone actually _cared_ for her wellbeing had become unusual, even uncommon, and she relented, softening her stance. “Thank you for not believing the worst of me,” she said with a small smile. “Why shouldn’t I leave?” 

“I think it would play straight into his hands. He… That tango, putting on a show like that… Either, he’s going to mingle, and he’s going to suggest to people you two know each other very well. Or else, he’ll make sure to leave moments after you, making people believe the two of you left together, like you’ve not only joined him, but also… You can’t leave the playing field. Either way, your reputation …” 

“...will be destroyed, everyone will believe I laid down for him.” she said bleakly, realizing that Sirius was right. “Thanks for warning me.” 

“You’re welcome.” He fidgeted for a moment, before holding out his arm. “Come back, have a dance with me?” 

The rest of the evening she kept to Sirius and Remus, the two of them keeping her a steadfast company for the evening. She was grateful that someone actually tried to help her, and for them taking care of her. _Maybe they were better than she had thought, maybe they had become more like the men she had known in the future than the mischievous boys she had seen at Hogwarts._

“We went abroad this summer, you know,” Remus said, glancing at her. “James’ parents wanted us to go in his stead. France, Italy, Germany and Portugal.” 

“Wow,” she breathed, feeling envy creep up on her. _What would she have given for such a chance? Visiting the wizarding world in other countries, to think of all the things she could have learned!_ From afar, she could see there was a small tug to Voldemort’s lips, like he knew how she felt, and he raised his glass slightly at her. _Maybe he did know, at that._ She frowned at him, before turning to Remus again, smiling sweetly. “That’s so nice of them,” she gushed, but Sirius bit his lip. 

“They say James would have wanted it. We were, after all, planning to go with him, and… then my family threw me out, and…” he glanced at Remus, who finished bitterly: “My family weren’t all that sure about letting me out of the country. Worried if there would be … expenses. Though James’ parents vowed they would pay for it, if anything happened.” 

Hermione merely blinked, knowing the reason why - _if the wolf in him caused any damage -_ but it seemed like a slip of the tongue, so she just nodded sympathetically. Sirius gazed at Remus, something warm in his eyes, and he patted his friend’s shoulder. 

All the while, Voldemort followed them with his eyes, and the boys seemed to notice it too. 

“You know,” Remus said slowly, “he’s not really known for making a public spectacle like that with witches, not like the way he danced with you earlier. From what I’ve heard, he’s usually just talking to people at parties, he’s not big on public displays.” 

Sirius rolled his eyes. “There’s public, and there’s _public_. When he is with his followers… Well, I heard stories, before I left my parents house. The Black family, you know, they’re thick as thieves with him.” 

“Oh, are the rumours of those revels true?” she asked, having both heard and read about rituals of horrors and excessive debauchery. _Something odd sprung to life inside her, like she … didn’t want to think about him having relations with other witches._ Stamping that feeling down quickly, she blinked furiously, like she needed to clear her head. 

“Yes,” Sirius said curtly, “I strongly believe they are. He’s not above, um… doing witches in public at those revels, from what I’ve heard, but apparently, he has never had any steady lovers. Just new girls, every time.” 

“You must be so jealous,” Remus said dryly to Sirius, a glint in his eyes. “A new girl every night? Are you reconsidering? I mean, you’d make a fine Dark Lord, wouldn’t you?” 

Sirius snorted, giving Remus a shove. “You know I’d never…” he said, voice low. “Not now.” 

Remus smiled slightly, a faint flush to his cheeks, and Hermione watched them, curiously, as if there was something going on. “So,” she piped up, “not chasing girls anymore?” 

The two wizards shared a quick glance, before they both shook their heads. Sirius muttered: “Now is not the time, with everything that’s happening, you know.” 

“Besides,” Remus said with a forced lightness, “we’re both living at the Potter’s house, so it’s not really any point in dragging girls into their house. It would be strange, you know.” 

Sirius nodded fervently. 

“I see,” she said slowly, but the pieces had already clicked in her head. _They were shagging, weren’t they? Casting her mind about, she couldn’t really remember any same sex couples in the wizarding world back in the future, though it surely must have been lots of them. How would the wizarding world of 1978 react to Remus and Sirius? She had no idea, and it could be either: maybe it was commonplace, or it could be a total scandal._

Turning around to watch the crowd instead, not sure if her expression would reveal what she had discovered, she noted again that Voldemort watched her, dark eyes inscrutable. _He didn’t dance with anyone else, he was just mingling and talking to people, but somehow, out of the corner of her eye, she knew he was always keeping his eye on her._ Something slithered down her spine, like a frisson, as if darkness itself oozed down her neck. 

“Do you know why he chose to dance with you?” Remus said, following her eyes. 

“Yes,” she sighed, debating if she should tell them of the Beltane Bond. _But it didn’t matter, she would never act on it - she’d stay alone for the rest of her life._ Instead, she mumbled: “He might be trying to recruit me. He offered me an apprenticeship.” 

“He did _what_?” Two heads swivelled towards her, both boys looking astonished. 

“Offered me to be his apprentice,” she repeated slowly. 

The two of them looked at each other, before Sirius said decisively: “You need to tell Dumbledore. Now.” 

Xxxx

Remus and Sirius had rounded up Dumbledore and McGonagall, ushering them out into the Atrium, before they all Floo’ed back to the Head’s office at Hogwarts. 

The spindly instruments chimed happily as they arrived, and Fawkes blinked at them, before sticking his head underneath his wings again, feathers glinting in reddish-golden in the dim light from the fireplace. 

“If I heard correctly, Tom wants you as his Apprentice,” Dumbledore said pensively, staring at her. 

McGonagall clucked her tongue. “That awful man,” she muttered, shaking her head. 

“I don’t know why he offered, he must have known I would refuse,” she said quietly. 

“It’s because he wants your memories of the future, silly!” Sirius said, slapping her lightly on the arm. 

“Well, about that…” she said slowly, but Dumbledore took over. 

“He already has those memories. He captured Hermione in Hogsmeade, and there are things … that would happen in the future … that caused him to kill James,” Dumbledore told them, a hard crease forming between his bushy eyebrows. 

“I knew it!” Remus’ voice was a small growl, and suddenly, for a brief moment, his eyes shone a burnished gold. 

“In the future,” Hermione said, her voice shaking, “Lily and James had a son, Harry. Harry was my best friend. He… when he was just a baby, Voldemort killed Lily and James, but Harry survived the Killing Curse. Voldemort disappeared.”

Sirius looked horrified, but still he managed to whisper: “Please don’t say his name…” 

She shrugged. “You, by the way, were framed for the murders.” 

“I?” Sirius’ voice rose to an outraged screech. “Like I would ever harm Lily or James!” 

But Hermione continued bitterly: “Due to this, I’ve effectively ruined the future as I knew it. The timeline must have branched off, and I have no idea what could happen.” 

Sirius sat still, his hands trembling, obviously fuming inside, and Remus slowly stroked his arm to calm him down, as if he was reassuring his lover that he'd _never_ believe anything like that about him. 

_Oh, if they knew_ , Hermione thought, but then again, maybe they had never been lovers in the future. _Maybe a smattering of good had come out of her destroying the future._

“Don’t blame yourself, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said tiredly, smiling kindly at her, like she had seen what went through Hermione's mind. “Older and stronger witches and wizards than you have succumbed to his Legilimency. You wouldn’t have been able to resist, not without being a world class Occlumens.” 

She nodded thankfully, before turning to glare at Dumbledore. “Yes, about _that,_ having an Occlumens at your disposal...” She knew he wanted Severus to return to the light, probably to turn him into a spy for the Order. _Future world class Occlumens or no, most of all, Snape deserved a thorough hexing, in her opinion._

Then Remus gasped, as he suddenly realized something important: “Lily, did they get to her too? Is she with Snivellus because…!?” 

The silence was deafening, but in the end, Dumbledore nodded. “We mustn’t disturb what’s happening there,” he said softly. “Maybe young Mr. Snape will see the error of his ways, and that forced love isn’t a true love.” 

To their credit, the two Marauders sputtered and raged for a long while, McGonagall too, her voice loud and angry, but by now, Hermione knew all of Dumbledore’s arguments by rote. Thinking about Severus’ obvious misery at the ball, she wondered if Dumbledore was actually right. _Maybe Severus would realize that Lily’s love for him wasn’t real, and that somewhere, deep inside, a small voice would be screaming in her mind for every single kiss, for every single time he took her, though her body would receive him with smiles and sighs of pleasure. Maybe it would be enough to make Severus repent._

“Love,” Dumbledore said suddenly, looking straight at her. “It was love that saved Lily’s and James’ son in the future. Lily sacrificed herself for her child, creating a protection against Voldemort. He’s susceptible, vulnerable against love, he has little or no defenses.” 

“That may be so,” she muttered, “but now Harry will never be born.” 

“ _He_ won’t be born,” Dumbledore agreed, blue eyes staring steadily at her. “I know there are things you haven’t been telling us, Miss Granger. What happened at Beltane?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sprinkling of Wolfstar in here. ;-) 
> 
> But Albus: That path you're about to go down - do you really think that's wise...? :-o


	9. When the Order Asks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Headmaster said calmly, blue fire flickering in his eyes: “When the Order asks, I expect people to comply.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, with drama. Enjoy!

Again, the room fell much too silent, and she felt her mouth go dry. _Merlin, she should have told them earlier. Now, she’d look bad for hiding this. But there was no way out._

Straightening herself on the chair, she said, voice low and steady: “I was stupid. I didn’t know how the Beltane ritual worked, and still I… participated. I was chosen as Goddess by the spell, and _he_ was chosen as God.” 

McGonagall’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes bugging out: “Oh, sweet lass, did you do that with _him_?”

“No, no, of course not,” she said hurriedly, “I most certainly did not.” 

Sirius and Remus slumped, like they suddenly felt a surge of relief, and Sirius took Remus’ hand, stroking it between his, petting him slowly. 

Dumbledore cocked his head, looking at them with a sudden interest, before he shared a brief, indulgent smile with McGonagall. _And suddenly, Hermione felt a tiny speck of relief. At the very least, her two Professors, the Order heads, would welcome the love affair between the two young wizards, if not the rest of the British wizarding world._

“Did you know who he was?” Remus said, peering at her with curiosity, still holding hands with Sirius. 

“No, not at the time, though I found out later. The only thing that happened, is that he kissed me to give the blessing, and then I pushed him away.” 

“He didn’t try to…?” McGonagall said in surprise. 

Shrugging, she answered: “He asked, but I refused.” 

Sirius shook his head, chuckling. “He’s got a serious case of blue balls by now, then. No wonder he was all over you on the dance floor. Imagine the Dark Lord, not getting what he...!” 

She threw him a filthy look, and said primly: “I don’t _care_. Personally, I’m going to stay celibate for the rest of my life.” 

Then the two Professors looked at each other again, this time shaking their heads with a shared look of both amusement and sorrow. 

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall said primly. “The Beltane is a very strong ritual. It _must_ be completed within the year.” 

“Or else?” she said defiantly. 

Dumbledore said, much too calmly: “Usually, people don’t resist the ritual, but there’s enough evidence to prove it. In the past, there have been cases of people choosing to not have intercourse, and the results have been dire: Madness, or even death, if the ritual hasn’t been completed within the year.”

Her eyes widened, but then she lifted her chin, with only a slight tremor in her voice. “Problem solved, then. If he dies.” 

“Or he’ll be even crazier than he already is,” Sirius mumbled, rolling his eyes. 

But Hermione felt panic creeping up on her, slowly, inching its way, encompassing her mind. The outburst, when it came, was shrill and loud: “Why don't the books _say_ so? I had no idea the ritual would require me to… I can’t, I don’t want to…. Not dying, but not _that_ either!” 

McGonagall said with a look of pity: “It’s because the magic is very strong. You’re not _supposed_ to be withstanding the pull to complete the ritual with your counterpart. The fact that you did is amazing. You must have … considerable … willpower.” 

The fire crackled, creating a lull in the discussion. Hermione stared into the fireplace, resting her eyes on the dancing flames, keeping the evening chill away, trying to force the panic down. _To die, or go mad, because she didn’t want to have sex with the most evil wizard in Britain. Or would it be better to just … do it, get it over with, and then live her life like this had never happened? No, never that. Definitely not. She might die, but she’d take Voldemort down with her._ Swallowing, she took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself by clutching the fabric of her long gown, crumpling it across her thighs. 

With a sigh, Dumbledore Summoned five tumblers and a bottle of Firewhisky, pouring a glass each, handing it out. 

“What I’m going to suggest will shock you,” he said, his voice shaking a little. “But this is a solution. _The_ solution.” 

He drank deeply from his tumbler, almost draining the glass like he needed liquid courage, and Hermione felt a clenching sense of foreboding in her gut as she sipped her own Firewhisky. _He wouldn’t suggest she laid down for Voldemort, now would he?_

Dumbledore cleared his throat, looking much older than before, almost like the tired old man she had known in the future. 

“You will accept the Apprenticeship with him,” he began, and there was a shout of protest from McGonagall. Dumbledore stalled her, holding up his hand. “Some of the rituals that bind an Apprentice to the Master - some, _not all_ \- are sexual in nature. You will choose one of those rituals, Miss Granger, and I believe Tom will comply. The effect is, you’ll be bound to him for as long as your Apprenticeship lasts. In that time, Tom might develop feelings for you, thus rendering him weaker, or maybe even turn him better.” 

Hermione snorted, loudly and with derision, because she had never heard of a more unlikely theory. _Voldemort having any kind of feelings - and for her, of all people? She supposed Dumbledore was conveniently overlooking her blood status. The only thing that kept her alive by now, was the fact that Voldemort needed something from her._

But Dumbledore continued, undeterred by her reaction: “You should also bear him an heir. He can’t help loving his own child. Not even he can avoid that on some level. This will defeat him. Turn him, as it were.” 

The three others sat still, in stunned silence, and Hermione sighed. “This will never work,” she said, much more patiently than she felt, “and I’m not going to sacrifice myself to … do that … with him. It’s true, I give you that, I could learn a lot from him, but you _really_ can’t ask me to become Voldemort’s lover. You _can’t_. Even the Greater Good has boundaries, you know. This is _far_ beyond.” 

Sirius winced again, and muttered with anguish again: “Oh, and Lily, poor Lily…” but Remus was looking at her, sorrow in his eyes, like he had already accepted Dumbledore’s plan, like he had given up helping her already. 

The Headmaster said calmly, blue fire flickering in his eyes: “His lover, our spy. When the Order asks, I expect people to comply.” 

“Oh, is that it?” she snarled, her anger finally breaking through, shattering her panic and fear, reforming it into fury. “Lay back, close your eyes and think of the Order?” 

To her surprise and great disappointment, Dumbledore seemed to take her slur seriously. “Or in this case, given Tom’s powers of Legilimency, you should think of _him_. Or else he’d notice.” 

Fury filled her to the point where she couldn’t get a word out, she merely breathed harshly through her nose, and the room seemed to flicker, like her vision had become red-tinted, like flames were licking at the walls. _Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out - keep on focusing to breathe - or else she’d explode._

McGonagall mumbled, her face a mixture of pity, pain and despair: “The lass is right, Albus, you can’t ask her this. The Beltane problem must be solved, though, but she’d be better off meeting him someplace private, fulfilling the ritual and forgetting all about it. I’d be happy to perform an Obliviate afterwards, if she wanted to.” 

Dumbledore said stubbornly: “She could tell us - the Order - of everything he plans to do. It could be vital to give us a headstart. I know it is a lot to ask, Miss Granger, but it would be … invaluable … knowledge.” 

Turning to the three others, the Headmaster said sternly: “She coming here made us lose a future where we had won and Tom had lost. It is only fair that she does whatever she can to help us win in this new, unforeseen timeline. It is her duty to the Order, no less.” 

Slowly, to her horror, McGonagall, Sirius and Remus bowed their heads, before nodding, deferring to Dumbledore’s authority, obeying their war general, even though they didn't agree. 

The four pair of eyes turned to her, staring expectantly, the core of the Order expecting her to obey this mad, insane plan. 

Finally, she found her voice again. Rising up, hands clutching the arms of her chair, she leaned forward, staring straight into Dumbledore’s blue eyes, but all that came out was a very emphatic: “ ** _NO_**.” 

Xxxx

Breathing hard, she felt unwanted tears brim in her eyes. _Ok. She might go mad or die by next Beltane, unless she let Voldemort touch her. The upside was, he’d go mad or die too. But really, she didn’t want her life to end like this. Nevertheless, her life was now looking out to be lonelier than she had ever imagined._

Contemplating doing what McGonagall said, just sending an owl to Voldemort to agree on a time and date, just to get it done, she shuddered at the thought, even as she was packing her things. _She wasn’t staying at Hogwarts in Dumbledore’s vicinity a minute longer than necessary. This - asking her to be a spy was one thing, but asking her to become Voldemort’s Apprentice-turned-lover-turned-mother-of-his-heir was a step too far. Unacceptable, bordering on evil. Letting Voldemort rape her repeatedly, and then pretending to like it to boot, trying to entice him into feeling something for her! As if that would ever work._

Having gathered her meagre belongings, stuffing it all into a small handbag with an Extension Charm, she marched out of her room, steps ringing in the empty corridors and stairs. 

Pushing up the great doors of the Entrance Hall, she felt a sting in her heart. _Would she ever return to Hogwarts? It was as much of a home now as she had ever had. She was homeless, friendless, lost in time - but she had her self-respect and her dignity. And her thirst for knowledge._

Moving quickly through the dark grounds, the August night cold, with a whiff of wood smoke in the air, she felt a certain finality quivering through her bones as the great gates of Hogwarts clanged shut behind her. _This part of her life was over. She was no longer a student, no longer someone who’d associate with the Order. She was on her own._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Dumbledore, how could you suggest something like this...


	10. Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort’s eyes were on her at all times. Dark eyes followed her every movement, and the expression on his too-handsome face was neutral, interested and … so glaringly obviously fake, not resembling the monster within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait. By way of apology, you get a long chapter!

Taking a room at the Three Broomsticks, wincing at the amount of money she had to pay for a small, rundown chamber in the attic, she sat down to write job applications at once. _First things first, she’d need a job, something to tide her over, giving her an income, helping her to survive. Then, she could continue contacting Masters in Arithmancy all over Europe. Or, why should she limit herself to Europe? She could leave for any continent, because there wasn’t as if anything tied her to Britain anymore. This wasn’t_ **_her_ ** _world. Though, she’d have to find out what to do about the Beltane Bond. There was no way she’d accept that she had to lay down for Voldemort within the year, and she was not about to go mad or die from not sleeping with him._

Letting the ink dry on her applications, she stretched out on the four poster bed, staring up into the faded canopy, the pattern with pale, sun-bleached green boughs twisting and turning almost making her nauseous by trying to follow a line with her eyes. 

Outside her door, there were creaking sounds coming from heavy steps. Sitting up in the bed, her heart suddenly thudded heavily in her chest, like all the blood in her body had decided to race through her veins, creating a flood of adrenaline and panic: _Was someone coming for her? Who? **HE**? _ Desperately, she fumbled for her wand, hands trembling. _She had to ward her room!_

Flinging out spells, all the wards she’d ever read about crackling in the air, she secured her room against intruders coming from the door, the Floo and the windows, setting an Anti-Apparating ward as well. _Would it be enough?_

The steps stopped for a moment outside her door, the handle rattling, and then whoever it was moved on, finding the door locked. 

Her breath came hard, and she was almost gasping for air. _Probably, it was only another guest trying the wrong door. But she’d better remember: She was on her own. No one would protect her but herself. There was no strong Hogwarts warding keeping evil out to protect her anymore, she had to make do on her own. She’d be reading up on more advanced wardings tomorrow._

Sighing, she methodically started to add even more wards to the room, feeling as if she was Mad-Eye Moody himself. _Then again, she was warding against Voldemort. Or maybe Dumbledore. It would be stupid to not take every precaution possible. Maybe she should read that chapter tonight, not tomorrow._

Looking around for her Defense spell book, Hermione stopped short, groaning. In this timeline, she didn’t own a single book. All her school books had been borrowed, returned to Hogwarts, and now, she didn’t have access to the great library. She would have to buy her own books. _With money she didn’t have._

In hindsight, she should have read up on undoing the Beltane ritual, while having the Hogwarts library at her disposal. _Now, for the first time in her life, she found herself without a library._

Xxxx

Later that night, she woke up hot and flustered, her hands pushing down her knickers before she was even fully awake. 

Soaking wet, she slid her fingertips over her throbbing clit, panting and bucking, still on the threshold of her dream: 

_“You’re so wet,” he mumbled, and she felt his breath hot against her throat, as his long fingers massaged her aching little nub. “So ready for me, so wanton, spreading your legs wide as they go for me. Let me put my mouth on you, and you’ll be screaming so deliciously for me, begging me for release.”_

_And imagine it she did, her back arching off her bed, her fingers rubbing furiously through her soaked slit, panting and gasping, as she envisioned Voldemort lowering his much too beautiful face between her legs, a wicked tongue meeting her drenched folds. Convulsing, clenching around nothing, her mouth open into a mewl of want, she felt a temporary relief as her orgasm finally crashed through her, like nothing but the real thing would bring her lasting satisfaction._

Afterwards, she shuddered with revulsion, sitting up in bed, clutching her sweaty bedspread between her shaking hands. _She felt so ashamed and guilty, dirty, like she had taken a skinny dip into an open sewer. Still, she worried if her dreams were getting stronger, more… vivid. As if something tugged him closer to her, every night._

  
  


Xxxx

With persistence and luck, she managed to bully her way into the Ministry’s administration, being accepted for a temporary job as a Wizengamot reporter, taking minutes of meetings. 

“This is only because one of our reporters had a sudden family emergency,” the Clerk of Wizengamot said sternly, peering at her over large, square glasses. “Usually, we _don’t_ hire underage witches or wizards. You’ll be the most _junior_ staff member in the administration, and I expect my tea to be freshly brewed at 8 am _every_ morning, _on_ my desk with the Prophet. Remember, you will only report minutes by hand, not by _any_ magical means _._ ” 

Her new boss, Marian Widdleswourth, was a middle-aged witch dressed in smart, professional-looking grey robes, brown eyes staring hard at her, as she tapped her wand impatiently on the large oak desk. The Clerk had a rather large office in the deep bowels of the Ministry, where portraits of pompous-looking earlier Clerks looked down on them, sneering at Hermione, whispering amongst themselves, like they thought she’d be useless. 

“Yes, Madam,” she said, before adding: “I will be of age in a little more than a month, Madam. However,” her smile turned almost sickly-sweet, “I will be happy to brew your tea _even_ when I am of age.” _If the damned witch wanted tea, why couldn’t she brew it herself? It wasn’t that hard to do!_

Hermione’s office was to be a tiny cubbyhole at the other end of the corridor, that was, when she wasn’t in attendance in the Wizengamot.The office smelled of dusty parchment, old ink and cold stones. _She had felt quite at home, the smell was almost like Hogwarts._

To be a clerk, taking notes and preparing documents for meetings, wasn’t exactly her dream job, but she figured she'd get a lot of inside information on how the Wizengamot really worked. _And she got paid. That was the most important thing right now, she couldn’t afford to be picky._

Within the afternoon, she had found a small, dingy room for rent at Incon Sequent’s Alley in the attic above a tea salon. She’d still need to be frugal, but she did allow herself to buy a book in Flourish and Blotts on the subject of Advanced warding, proceeding to ward her room to the nines. 

It was no wonder the room was cheap: The roof was leaking, and there were damp patches on the walls, the smell a horrid combination of mould and old, threadbare carpet, no matter what spells she tried to fix the leaks and get rid of the dampness. Hermioen couldn’t help shuddering thinking about how the room would be in January, if it was this cold and damp in August. 

“Another pot, my dear?” the old lady manning the tea shop asked, a hopeful note in her querulous voice. The thinning, grey hair was collected in a bun at the back of her head, and her flowery apron had brown tea stains. 

“No thanks,” Hermione said with a polite smile, surreptitiously checking the Warming Charm on the one pot of tea she could afford each night. 

The old witch sighed, before tottering away, mindlessly polishing the tables with a flick of her wand, chatting with one of the few other regulars, all of them old as hills. 

Hermione spent her evenings reading in the salon on the ground floor, just to avoid staying in her cramped, humid room. At least, she kept warm, though the frilly, yellowed curtains and the musty-smelling pillows on the seats wasn’t much to her liking. Still, the cheap tea allowed her to save up for buying books instead of spending too much money on food. The elderly couple running it also owned the building, and though they were friendly enough, she really couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for people who were perfectly fine by taking money for such a hovel as her rented room. 

In the Ministry, her job as a scribe got boring very quickly. Even though it wasn’t allowed, she began experimenting with spelling her quill to take the minutes. She remembered all too well Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill, and this was merely a slightly altered version of it - though more truthful. 

After a week of trial, she found her spell perfect, and she wasn't able to see the difference between her own, meticulously written minutes and the work of the quill. _So, why did the Wizengamot insist on handwriting? It was ridiculous, really, and she couldn’t_ **_believe_ ** _that no one had thought about this before._

Plastering her most polite smile on her face to cover up her exasperation, she put the question to Madam Widdleswourth. “So, I mean, all the work I’ve submitted has _of course_ been handwritten, but I did this on the side. The spell works perfectly, and I can’t see why using spells are forbidden,” she concluded, having argued to the best of her ability to her stern boss. 

Madam Widdleswourth smiled a little, the sudden grin transforming her grave countenance, before flicking the door behind Hermione shut. Rising from her chair, the woman gave her a hearty handshake. 

“Congratulations, Miss Granger, and _welcome_ to the Ministry. We all use such spells, but you managed to find the solution very quickly. Much _quicker_ than most, I must admit.”

“But … this was a test?” Hermione said, incredulous, gaping at her boss. 

The woman winked cheekily at her, before saying: “Remember, we like to keep our jobs, so … the Wizengamot and the Minister believe it’s important to take notes by hand. Now, show me how your version of the spell works. It’s interesting, because we all create our own versions. By now, I think we’ve registered around 75 different variations over the years.” 

Xxxx

That small shudder galled him, every single time. It could have been caused by pleasure, but he knew it was not. _Every single time their eyes met in the Wizengamot, the girl shuddered, her pretty face transforming to a sour, disgusted grimace._

From the far side, Mad-Eye Moody and Septimus Weasley glared at him, and whenever Dumbledore saw fit to attend, the old man stared balefully at him, blue eyes boring into him like the old coot hoped to slip past Voldemort’s Occlumency walls. 

Seated on the fifth row, beside Abraxas, Augustus’ father and the head of the Prewett family, the cramped pews barely had room for his long legs. To his dismay, Charms were in place to hinder any magical adjustments to the room. _As if someone in the distant past had decided that all wizards and witches attending had to sit on hard, wooden benches, bodies pressing into each other. This was one thing he vowed to change, but he couldn’t dismantle the spellwork without anyone else noticing._

His seat in the Wizengamot gave him a good view of the girl, as she did her job as a good little clerk, taking the minutes. As he and the other members held speeches, debated and ruled the Wizarding World, he could see she was seething on the inside, forced into a role of dutifully taking notes. _This girl wanted more in her life, and he couldn’t help smiling._  
  
There was no doubt, this wasn’t what she had envisioned after her NEWTs. _She had a clever mind, and taking notes was … beneath her, really._ Still, no matter her brain, he couldn’t help staring at her, his thoughts going in an entirely different direction. As she sucked on the feathered end of her quill, his eyes glazed over, imagining her with his cock in her mouth, before he’d bend her over the pews to pound into her from behind, grabbing that mass of hair to pull her head back, raising her up on her tip-toes, her back pressing against his chest. 

At times, he tried to project those thoughts to her, and her sudden blush, her awkward shifting on her chair made him grin wickedly, as jolts of pleasure raced down his spine, settling in his cock. 

Trying to keep his mind on work, he signalled discreetly to Antonin on the opposite side. Antonin, ever on the alert, looked straight at him, receiving his message through Legilimency. 

With a small nod, Antonin raised his hand, and when his turn came, he rose to make the speech Voldemort had crafted. “Esteemed colleagues,” Antonin boomed, scratching his scruffy chin, “I wish to alert you to a problem with the wand trade. We all know that recent events in Portugal will put a stopper to the export of Portuguese wand woods. My main worry is that France and Italy will pull their wand woods from export to ensure their own supplies, and…” 

Voldemort nodded, and Augustus hid a small smile. _Anyone who even remotely knew Antonin, would realize that the man couldn’t care less about the trade market._

However, the full Wizengamot wasn’t where Voldemort did most of his true work. Corrupting the Ministry from the inside had proved to be … much easier … than he’d ever imagined. _The Ministry was ripe for picking_. _  
__  
_Xxxx

  
  


The Wizengamot deliberations were much as she had expected. Boring things like cauldron thickness, things only a Percy Weasley would care about, and the really important things she felt passionately about, like injustice to Beings and Creatures. The cavernous room with the seats high above, reaching the rafters, the members wearing plum coloured robes gave an air of formality to the proceedings. 

Her colleagues, though, were nice people. At times, she badgered them into lending her books for her evening reading, always returning the book the next day in pristine condition. 

“You certainly like to read,” her elderly coworker Meliora Minton commented, smiling fondly at her as Hermione greedily leafed through a book on human Transfiguration during the lunch break. Today, three clerks were attending the proceedings, because of a high profile trial concerning a curious case of werewolf baiting. 

“I really do,” she said, preoccupied, sipping a cup of lukewarm tea to fill her stomach. Her colleagues all had their lunch packs, lounging in the almost empty Wizengamot main chamber, taking their lunch downstairs instead of shortening their break by running back to their office. 

“Are you sure you don’t want a scone? I baked them myself this morning, and I feel … you should eat something, girl. It isn’t healthy, not having lunch like that.” 

Shaking her head, Hermione declined. She had concluded that by having only two meals a day, she could save money. Having only breakfast and tea, she was better off not getting into the habit of having the luxury of lunch again. _Weaning herself off the abundance from the Hogwarts meal had been hard enough in those first two weeks._

“Looks like you read almost anything too,” Meliora continued, ladling strawberry jam on her scone. “Transfiguration, Healing, Warding, Potions… Is there no limit to your magical interest? I mean, do you ever read something as normal as a romance novel?” 

“What?” Hermione raised her head, blinking in surprise. “Romance novels? Uh, no. I don’t have the time for that. I need to prepare for my studies.” 

Isabella Murrington barked a laugh, sharing a glance with Meliora. She was a pretty witch in her forties, having worked for the Wizengamot for years, and she was a right gossip, seeming to know everything about everyone. 

“Sweetheart, you’re so young, you should get out more, meet a young man. Have some fun, girl!”

Hermione sighed, but the back of her neck prickled, like someone was staring intently at her, and in the distance, there was a low, insidious chuckle, trailing like a menacing tendril down her spine. _Gods, he was a creep. Was he listening in, too?_

Each time she was in attendance at the full Wizengamot, she couldn’t help shuddering. _Voldemort’s eyes were on her at all times._ Dark eyes followed her every movement, and the expression on his too-handsome face was neutral, interested and … so glaringly obviously _fake_ , not resembling the monster within. _How he must laugh at her and her sad existence: Borrowing books, skimping on food, doing a mindless, boring job. And now he was laughing at her! He very well knew that it was completely pointless for her to find herself a boyfriend._

Turning around, she glared at him. He was sitting in his pew, eating a sandwich with a large tome in his lap, but those dark eyes were trained on her. Meeting her glare, Voldemort _smiled_ at her, the grin transforming his beautiful face into something darkly mischievous, before he saluted her with his own cup of tea. 

Almost snarling, she turned back, staring determinedly down into her book, trying to force her rage down. _To be bound to such a creep…!_ The lack of access to a public library worried her greatly, because she hadn’t the financial means to buy all the books for her research. Not books on Arithmancy to prepare for an Apprenticeship, and certainly not rare, old tomes on ritual magic. Her research on how to avoid the Beltane consummation hadn’t even started, due to her lack of research materials, though she comforted herself she still had time. There was still several months until the next 30 April. _Or… was that really the time frame she had to work within?_

Though, it wasn’t her colleagues' fault that they didn’t have rare old tomes to lend. No matter how sweet they were, they were very much different from herself. Though they had very astute opinions on politics, they were also much older, and seemed to be happy with their jobs, talking about their families and their hobbies. _The thing was, they were satisfied, while Hermione, she wanted to go places. This was temporary, until she got her Apprenticeship, but so far, no Master had responded favourably to her petition. And with a sinking feeling, she realized that Voldemort must have understood that._

Xxxx

In the committee meetings, she got closer to the members of the Wizengamot: All of them powerful, or at least rich and privileged - or a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight of the old Pure-Blood families. Wizarding politics proved to be just as unrelenting as Muggle politics: Haggling, deals and bartering, if not attempts at outright blackmail. 

Luckily, she didn't serve in any of the committees Voldemort was a member of. He seemed to prefer the prestigious committees of Magical Discovery, Magical Law and Magical Finance, as well as the oddball committee of Muggle Relations, while she served in the lesser Committees of Creatures and Beings, as well as Magical Trade and the absolutely boring Administrative Committee, which dealt with running the Ministry and the Wizengamot. 

Her role was to be the invisible background, providing minutes and reports, her notes sometimes carefully scrutinized by the participants before she could finish her work. 

Though at times, she wasn’t the invisible clerk, not at all. A few wizards noticed her, some only by a fleeting, appreciative glance, just a brief moment longer than necessary, but a few tried to get closer. 

“You’re such a sweet … young … girl. I’m sure you find it hard to buy all the pretty things a young girl like you need. I could ... help you, you know,” an older man muttered, leering at her. 

She barely held the sneer away from her face as she declined his ‘generous’ offer. Another man even went as far as slapping her bum, pinching her buttocks, just laughing off the hard glare she gave him. 

When she complained to her boss, Marian Widdleswourth said apologetically: “We do impress that this is illegal at the start of each Wizengamot session, but there isn’t a lot we can do, as long as it’s only the occasional pat or staring. If they try anything else, we might take action.” 

“So what you’re saying, they need to attempt rape before you can stop them?” Her eyes narrowed, and she rested her hands on her hips, ready to rip into this unfairness - but then she remembered: _Why bother? This wasn’t her world. Why should she be the one to make everything better? They could stew in their own, misogynistic filth. She was here only temporarily, until she could leave for a Mastery._

“Something like that, yes,” her boss said, looking uncomfortable. 

Shaking her head, Hermione almost couldn’t believe it. _The past was a bleak place._ _Maybe it hadn’t been like that in her own time. At least she hoped so._

The man that had slapped her bum was a wealthy landowner from Shropshire, a well-respected wizard from a Pure-blood family, and he was attending the Administration Committee. 

“The Fawleys are notorious,” her coworker Isabella Murrington mumbled, as they shared a cup of tea during break. “Him, his brother and his father are pigs, really. Married, all of them, still they are known for being lechers. Just try to ... not be alone with him. He has a lot of spells up his sleeve to get what he wants. This… you know, is one of the reasons why Marian usually doesn't hire girls as young as you. She doesn’t want to play right into their hands.” 

The thirty-something Lord Fawley continued to do his best to grope her, and she did her best to avoid it, going as far as setting a Notice-Me-Not on herself the next time she attended his Committee. 

Taking a relieved breath, she left the meeting, having successfully avoided any unwanted attention, stepping briskly into the corridor to make the long trek back into her tiny office. As she rounded a corner in one of the less trafficked corridors - _a short-cut, really, from the spacious meeting rooms for the politicians and to the cramped offices for the administration -_ she felt a strong hand grab her neck, pushing her against the wall. 

Her breath was knocked out of her, as she was slammed into the wall. 

“Don’t you think I didn’t notice what you did, little girl. You thought you were so clever, didn’t you?” Fawley’s breath was hot against her ear, and she struggled to get free, but he had grabbed her hands, using his weight to pin her against the wall. 

_If only she could get to her wand…_ Squirming, she managed to get one hand free, but the man behind her chuckled, grinding his hips against her. Horrified, she felt a hard bulge pressing against her arse. 

_“_ I’m good with Disillusionement, and I’m going to fuck you right here in the corridor, showing you your place, teaching you how to take a cock like an obedient little Ministry whore,” he growled. 

She tried to scream, but to her horror, there was already a Silencing spell in place, and worse, her hands seemed now to be glued to the wall. Panicking, she struggled even harder, trying to muster enough focus to blast him off with a wandless and wordless spell as she tried to squirm away. 

His hands went under her skirt, trying to yank down her knickers, and it made blood thunder through her ears - _there was a rushing sound, like a wind howling through an empty cave_ \- and suddenly, her power was there, with no need for her wand: 

“ _Reducto!_ ” 

The man was blasted away from her, falling on his arse, staring blankly at her, while she grabbed her wand, taking a threateningly step towards him. _Oh, she’d love to hurt him, so badly…_

“Though he’s an arse, you might not want to harm him too much. He might press charges against you.” 

The deep, familiar voice was almost a drawl, and she narrowed her eyes. _Now what? Had_ **_he_ ** _come to see if she could defend herself, or to see her humiliated by Fawley?_

Turning around, she glared at Voldemort. He was standing a few feet away, looking calm, but somehow, she was sure something was seething on the inside. Power surged around him, like chopped waves crashing on rocks, making her feel almost lightheaded. _Or maybe it was just relief._

“Lord Voldemort!” Fawley croaked out, crawling into an upright position, hands rapidly brushing specks of dirt from his rich velvet robes, “she attacked me, this little bitch…!” 

“Please, Fawley, I saw what happened. In any case, self-defense is allowed.” Voldemort’s voice was now clipped, like he fought to contain his anger, and with a derisive sneer, he continued: “And I must say, the girl is lucky to have such a command over her wordless and wandless magic at such a young age. But that’s how you like them, isn’t it, Fawley? Young and tender?” 

Fawley licked his lips, glancing from her to Voldemort. “I do,” he admitted, looking unashamed. “And so do you, my Lord.” 

“Quite right. And that’s why _you’ll_ leave little Miss Granger alone, Fawley.” 

Voldemort’s presence was suddenly threatening, power slithering out of him like dark trails of ink seeping towards Fawley, and the man scrambled back, getting to his feet, before bolting. He shouted at them over his shoulder: “I’m sorry, my Lord! I had no idea…” 

Hermione stared at Voldemort, as the sound of Fawley's running feet slowly got fainter. 

“So, is there anyone else you need to be protected from?” He looked irritated, like he couldn’t believe he had stooped to _protect_ someone else, but she shook her head. Her pulse was pounding with a strange echo, like there was a reverberation from him, coming across from a taut string between them, like the agitation she had felt wasn’t only her own. 

“He was the worst of them.” Tartly, she added: “As you can see, I was able to protect myself.” 

“Ah yes,” he said with a sinister amusement, shaking his head. “But not against what inevitably would follow. The incriminations and insinuations, the slander of your character, all leading up to you being sacked. You’ll need my help.” He nodded decisively, though his mouth wrenched into a brief, sour grimace. 

She furrowed her brows, biting her lip. “The Law of Self-defense…” 

“...will only take you so far,” he interrupted, looking decidedly unamused. “I’ll speak with your boss, having you transferred to my Committees, where I can keep an eye on you. You’re putting us both at risk with this … stubbornness. If he had succeeded, we would have died. Girl, we _must_ complete this ritual.” 

Hugging herself, like she was freezing, her hands trembling, she muttered: “I want to find a solution to how to undo this … bond. I don’t want to...” 

“If _I_ say so, it can’t be undone,” he said, exasperated. “Believe me, I did not plan to shackle myself to an unwilling Mudblood who prefers to risk my sanity and life in the process, no matter … the precautions I’ve taken.” 

“Like I trust you or anything you say!” she spat. 

“Oh, when it comes to questions of what’s possible to do with magic or not, you can,” he said dryly. “No one knows more about magic than me. No one has ever gone to such lengths as me. Trust me, I _know_ the boundaries of magic. What you want, will _not_ work.” 

She took a deep trembling breath, trying to calm herself, shivering. _He was right about the extent of his knowledge, wasn’t he? True, he did know a lot about magic, but no, she wouldn’t surrender to this. Besides, who was to say he was right about the Beltane? He might lie, or at least omit something. And why had he participated in the ritual anyway? There had to be some ulterior motive, something sinister._

Voldemort pinched the flesh between his eyes, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he had continued to do that after he lost his nose. She felt a sudden urge to giggle, but smothered it quickly, feeling very sure that wouldn’t go over well. 

Voice strained, he continued: “We need to do something about this. I don’t fancy the consequences.” 

Setting her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “I don’t want to, and you can’t rape me. The Beltane Spell ensures that.” 

“You’re right,” he said angrily, taking a step forward, suddenly looming over her, staring threateningly down at her, “or else I would already have done so just to get this over with.” For a moment, his eyes flashed red, and she felt another surge of power, fizzing through her like a bolt of lightning. 

She took a step back, shocked. _Oh, but why was this a shock? She knew what he was. Why would he balk at rape?_

He visibly calmed himself down, dragging his hand through his hair, saying gratingly: “You and I … we must make this work. I don’t want to go mad or die, and time is running out.” 

Glancing around in the corridor, she said firmly: “I don’t want to discuss this with you here.” 

“You’d prefer somewhere more … private?” he said, cocking that dark eyebrow arrogantly. 

“No! Not at all!” she barked, reddening. “Somewhere that isn’t my workplace.” 

“The Leaky Cauldron tomorrow at eight,” he said decisively. “Public enough for you?” 

She grunted. “Yes,” she said, despite herself. _This was stupid. She shouldn’t be meeting up with him. Though, he probably couldn’t harm her in there, the pub being as public as the Wizarding world got. Still..._

Glaring at him, she muttered :”I’ll be Glamoured. Look out for a … a…” _she floundered, what should she look like - before landing on Ginny - “_ a small redhead.” 

“Not a problem,” he replied with a smirk. “I can track your magical signature. It’s … quite … distinct.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that a ... date?


	11. A Beer With the Dark Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She nodded. “It has crossed my mind too. The time frame we’re working with is … unclear.” 
> 
> “Good,” he said, approvingly, though his eyes were mocking. “You’re smart, for a Mudblood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting! <3 
> 
> I might add another chapter to the count, seeing as the final chapters tend to get too long...

Trudging home in the rain, holding her thin, summer robes together at her chest to keep warm, she smacked into someone when rounding the corner by Mr. Mulpepper’s Apothecary. 

“Watch it!” the wizard snarled at her, and looking up, she saw it was none other than Severus Snape. “You!” he whispered, his eyes widening. 

Narrowing her eyes, she moved to bypass him, but he stepped in front of her again. 

“You were right,” he said quickly, “I’m sorry.” 

Shaking her head, she tried to move away, but again, he stepped in front of her. “I had no idea,” he muttered, “that he would do something like that.” 

“Like what? Imperio Lily, making sure you’d be able to rape her again and again?” she snarled, putting her hands on her hips, glaring at him. The rain was icy, and she renewed her _Impervius_ Charm to avoid getting wet. Her second-hand boots, though, always seemed to get wet, no matter how she tried to bespell the damned things. 

Severus winced, his black coat fluttering by the gusts of wind. “No, well, I meant killing James. And … I should have realized he had some designs on you.” 

“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy James dying!” The words were out of her mouth before she knew it, dripping with disgust and anger. 

He took a step back, his face paler than usual, and shook his head. “No, I did not.” 

“So how’s Lily?” she said vindictively. “Does she cry at night, or does her real sentiments shine through only during nightmares?” 

Severus shook his head, dark eyes vulnerable, as if there was a deep layer of hurt in there. “She’s pregnant,” he said heavily, his face drawn and tired. 

Hermione sniffed. “Serves you right, for raping her. Good luck with raising the baby.” 

“It isn’t like that,” he insisted. “She’s _not_ under the Imperius, that was only for a few moments in the beginning. She’s … he helped me, working Mind magic on her, adjusting her feelings. Believe me, this is real, it’s what could have been between us. Actually, she knows what has happened, but she doesn’t think about it, she doesn’t care. He removed that reaction, those emotions.” Looking contrite, he mumbled: “And it’s not .. what I wanted.” 

Blinking, she took a step back, huddling close to the wall to avoid the rain lashing in her face. “She knows...” she whispered weakly, “and after all that, you’ve decided this wasn’t what you wanted? You’ve destroyed her life, and now you want to leave her with a baby?”

“I…I ...” he stammered, before swallowing. “I’ll never leave her,” he said decisively, “I’ll never abandon Lily. But … I didn’t want a _baby_. Not now, not for many years. I’ve never wanted to be a father.” 

“That’s what happens when you don’t use Contraception,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Severus, you know how this works, you’re not stupid.” 

“It was her doing. When I proposed, she stopped taking the potion. I had no idea…” he muttered bitterly. 

“Congratulations on your marriage, then,” she retorted icily. “If you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than talking to you.” 

“Please..” he said, “I’d like to beg for your forgiveness. I thought the Dark Lord only wanted to talk to you. I had no idea he’d be … _stalking_ you, like he did at the ball.” 

“Well, now you know,” she said, eyes narrowing. “I told you he was a monster. I _know_ . You led me to him, he took my memories of the future. That’s why he killed James. You’re as guilty as he is. The future as I knew it is _destroyed._ ” 

Severus shrugged. “Maybe it’s for the best. You know, he’s changed. For the better, I think.” 

“Sure,” she said scathingly. “He’s just gotten better at hiding it.” 

“Still,” he maintained, “fewer people will die. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?” Taking a deep breath, he repeated: “Please, forgive me. I enjoyed our friendship, and… Lily liked you too. Please.” 

Shaking her head slowly, she said softly, but very, very clearly: “No, Severus. You betrayed me. You betrayed Lily. I can’t trust you again.” 

“Not even for Lily? Her best friends from before won’t talk to her now, she’s lonely. Those… I mean, Black and Lupin, they’ve shut her out, and won’t answer her owls.” His voice was low and ragged, the rain wetting his face, like it was tears. Taking a step forward, he whispered: “I can help you. I can make amends, to help you with the Dark Lord. He can’t read my mind, you know.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation, leaning in: “But he can read _mine_ , Severus.” Pushing him aside, she walked off, muttering more incantations to insulate her boots and coat against the rain and the wind, but she wasn’t quite sure if her wet cheeks were due to her charms failing. 

Xxxx

“So, everything is according to plan,” he said, nodding with satisfaction at his Inner Circle. “People are beginning to look askance at Dumbledore, and he’s losing more and more authority in the Wizengamot. We’re on track, and he knows it. That works in our favour, because he’s beginning to make choices that even his followers think is … untraditional, callous and … maybe even _dark_.” 

They were gathered at Malfoy Manor for a sumptuous dinner, and Voldemort was in a very good mood after the delicious meal. The first course had been Fin-de-Claire oysters, followed by a delicate creamy vongole pasta, and for the main course there had been a tender roast of lamb with gravy, greens and potatoes. All dishes were paired with the grand vintages from Abraxas’ cellar, deliciously complementing the food. Narcissa presided over the table as Mistress of the house, at the other end of the table, and he saluted her with his crystal goblet, thanking her for the excellent meal, the lights from the great chandelier sparkling in the silver cutlery. 

Almost drowsily, he scooped up the remaining chocolate mousse, enjoying the complementary rich taste of the Port, a Colheita Feiticeira 1948. The reports had been made, all was well. For once, he felt _content_. 

Then Abraxas cleared his throat, looking uncommonly nervous. The others fell still, looking conspicuously down on their plates, trying to pretend they weren’t there. 

Voldemort sighed. _Now what? Had they left out some bad news, hoping that his mood would be better after the meal? Maybe his Death Eaters knew him too well. They might even be right._

“My Lord,” Abraxas said diffidently. “We’ve all known you for a long time, and… I’m speaking on behalf of all of us.” Malfoy’s stern, blue gaze swept around the table, and Augustus, Antonin, Cygnus, the Lestranges, the Averys and the Rosiers literally _squirmed_ on their plush chairs, forcing them to comply, and slowly, they all nodded. 

“Speak,” Voldemort snapped, his voice like the crack of a whip, making Abraxas pale and fall silent. For a moment, everything was quiet, except for the low crackling from the fireplace. 

Abraxas licked his lips, before he bravely soldiered on. “My Lord, we can’t help notice that you’ve fixed your attention to the young girl from the future. You seem … preoccupied, at times, and we just don’t understand why. You’ve already taken her knowledge, adjusted your plans, so… why? How is this girl important now? And why aren’t we allowed to harm her? We’ve never seen you give so much attention to a mere witchling.” 

At that, Antonin nodded, and Voldemort felt a spike of irritation. _So that was it, was it? Antonin wanted to play with this girl, while others, those more politically inclined like Abraxas, couldn’t see her usefulness._

Draining his glass, he took a moment to think through things. _It was no wonder they questioned him. His behaviour had been abnormal, and while he was perfectly content to squash any questions he didn’t like, it was at times prudent to indulge them, explaining his reasoning._

Clearing his own throat, Voldemort nodded slowly. “I have my reasons,” he said calmly, and a collective puff of breath left his Death Eaters, all of them relieved that he wasn’t in the mood for brutal punishment. “You see, the girl is vital to a ritual I’m going to perform, but she must do it willingly.” 

Most of them blinked at that curious notion, but sweet Bella caught on. “Beltane…!” she gasped, “she was your Goddess, wasn’t she? But… does this mean the ritual wasn’t fulfilled?”

“Very good, Bella,” he said silkily, and the girl preened by his praise. “She was, and she’s going to acquiesce. My version of the Beltane consummation will be … _different,_ achieving something else than the fertility of the land. However, given what she knew of me from her future, it’s going to take a little convincing to make her come willingly. In the end, she will, and I have great expectations as to the result of my improved ritual.” 

He gestured to the House-elves for more Port, and as his glass filled up, the ruby-red wine glittering in the light of the grand chandelier, his Death Eaters nodded, looking pleased that their Lord had deigned them an explanation for his odd behaviour. 

Xxxx

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded, the long room was filled with wizards and witches laughing and talking. Some had dinner, while others were there just for a couple of pints. Outside, the rain was pouring down again, hammering at the window panes, and inside the air was damp from wet clothes and the evaporation from Drying spells, mists curling upwards to the rough wooden beams carrying the low ceiling. The stone floor was wet and muddy, courtesy of the downpour outside. 

Firmly ensconced in her Glamour, vaguely resembling the future Ginny Weasley, Hermione shouldered her way to the bar, ready to order the cheapest pint on tap. _It wasn’t as if she’d spend a lot of money for a meeting with Voldemort, of all people. She much preferred to save her money for books._

“It’s my treat,” he said, right on cue, standing right behind her, his body almost caging her in against the bar. Craning her neck, she glared up at him, and he smirked at her, towering over her with his impressive height. 

“I’m perfectly capable of…” she began, but he interrupted her. 

“I’m sure you are. Tom, give us a pint of Camelot’s Casket, will you?” 

“Coming up, m’Lord,” the barman said, quickly pouring two beers, planting the pints on the counter. The beer was pitch black, with a creamy thick foam, and she stared suspiciously at it, having never drunk anything else than ale or lager. 

Suddenly, there was a faint rush of magic from the man behind her, and the barman’s eyes glazed over momentarily, before he nodded pleasantly: “Thank you, m’Lord.” 

Turning fully around, she stared up at Voldemort. “Your treat, huh?” she huffed, fully aware that he hadn’t paid at all, instead Confounding or Imperio’ed the poor barman. 

“My treat,” he repeated, having the audacity to wink at her, black eyes glinting, before taking her arm, leading her to a table in a secluded corner. She tried to free her arm from his grip, but he held her firmly, not releasing her until they had reached the corner, Levitating their pints expertly in front of them. Murmuring in her ear, he said: “Can’t let you buy beer before you’re of age, now can I? What would such a thing do to my poor conscience?” 

She snorted with incredulity, glancing at him, but his dark eyes danced with a wicked mirth, like he dared her to say he had much worse on his so-called conscience, if indeed such a thing existed at all. 

The large stone fireplace had a roaring fire going, and the corner was dim, only lit by the flickering flames. 

Voldemort gestured to her to sit, before he seated himself. The chairs were nothing more than two crudely hewn wooden chairs, with a narrow table between them, no wider than a shelf, only fit for drinks. 

The effect was, she was sitting _much_ closer to Voldemort than she wanted to, their knees almost touching, and she couldn’t help squirming, like she wanted to rub her thighs together. _Dear Merlin, not again…!_ She almost groaned, feeling that intense physical sensation of a pull towards him, _like she wanted nothing more than to straddle him on his chair, and…_

Blinking furiously to clear that image from her mind, she sniffed her pint suspiciously. _He hadn’t laced it with something, had he?_

“Nice Glamour,” he said, appraising her red hair and blue eyes, “but I do prefer you as your bushy self.” With a flick of his fingers, he tore down her Glamour, making her start as her spell unravelled. 

Pulling her cowl over her head, she hissed at him: “ ** _Excuse me_** , I told you I wouldn’t want to be recognised! I don’t want to be seen with _you_!” 

Voldemort shrugged. “I know. No one will see you in this corner though. If you’d like, I could put up a Notice-Me-Not.” 

Squinting at him, she knew that would be very much counterproductive. _She had wanted to see him in a public space, hadn’t she? If he was to Shield their corner, he could do anything to her while no one noticed._

“No thanks,” she said tartly. “I’ll stick to my cowl.” _Anger coursed through her, because really, he had a nerve, hadn’t he? Taking it upon himself to tear down her Glamour like that! Why did he think he had the right to do such things? Besides, if she wasn't mistaken, he was Glamoured himself. There was the odd flicker around his eyes, like a …_

“How do you really look?” The question had left her before she knew it. 

He barked a laugh. “Is that what you’re worried about? Did you spot the Glamour?” 

“I did,” she said, “and I know you look quite differently in the future.” 

He nodded, looking unamused by the thought of his future self. “I don’t look like _that_ either, the version I saw in your mind. The Glamour, though, it’s ... convenient.” 

Holding her gaze, he set a strong Notice-Me-Not around them, making her narrow her eyes, the edges of the spell shimmering like a heat wave, and let his Glamour fall. 

There was a sudden quiet. 

Mouth half open, she forgot the dangers of the Notice-Me-Not, taking in his appearance, seeing that he was very much the same and yet so different. _His features didn’t change, his face was still strong and handsome, but his eyes were red with vertical, slitted pupils._

She was speechless, seeing the strange monstrosity in front of her, and he smirked, pulling up his Glamour again, letting the Notice-Me-Not go. 

The sound from the pub rushed in, and she realized he must have modified the spell to include sound too, making it even more dangerous. Not only would they be close to invisible, but no one would have heard her scream either. _She had been in so much danger, letting him set that spell. She had to be on her guard. Like Moody had said: ‘Constant vigilance!’_

“Your curiosity being satisfied, let’s talk about the ritual,” he said, before sipping his pint. “Ah, this is a good one. I always prefer porter to that cat piss lager they stock up on.” 

Sourly, she muttered, “I wouldn’t know.” Though, when she tasted the beer, it was a pleasant surprise. _Smooth, well-rounded, with a taste of coffee beans. Almost sweet, compared to the beers she had tasted before._

“So,” Voldemort said, brisk and business-like, as if they were here to hammer out a deal. “Within the year - take note of the wording. This might just as easily refer to the end of year, not Beltane.”

She nodded. “It has crossed my mind too. The time frame we’re working with is … unclear.” 

“Good,” he said, approvingly, though his eyes were mocking. “You’re smart, for a Mudblood.” 

“Don’t call me that!” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at his smug face. “You asked me to be your Apprentice - of course I’m smart! Much more than those idiot Pure-bloods you surround yourself with!” 

Voldemort grinned. “That might be true,” he said, “but still, your blood isn’t acceptable.” As an afterthought, he added: “Not that their blood is all that much better. Diluted over the years, blended with weaker blood. At the very least, you’re powerful.” 

Opening her mouth, ready to give him a tongue lashing on his _bigotry_ as a Half-blood _,_ lecturing him about _equality_ and _the worth of every single human,_ he simply overrode her, Silencing her briefly with a wordless spell. Her eyes bugging out, he just shrugged. 

“So, never mind your dirty blood,” he continued, unfazed by her anger, “you still embody the Goddess until we consummate. As recent events have shown, the risk to us both is real. What if Fawley had managed to knock you out, successfully raping you? Then you’d die, just like that.”

Finding that her voice was back, she countered gleefully: “And you too! That’s the best part of this travesty.” Almost purring, she said sweetly: “It’s wonderful, thinking about that you’d die too.”

He scowled at her, tendrils of power trailing out, grabbing at her, making her shiver. _Don’t wake the basilisk -_ the thought slithered through her mind, but she opted to stare straight at him, like she was unafraid. _Because right now, the only one holding any kind of power over Voldemort, was herself. He couldn’t harm her, not if he wanted her to come to him willingly._

Leaning forward, their brows almost touching, he hissed at her, Glamour slipping a little, showing the red of his true eyes: “What if I told you, little Goddess, that I’ve taken steps towards immortality? The very steps that made me survive the backfiring Killing Curse at the Potter’s house in _your_ future.” 

She gasped, rearing back as if he’d struck her, and he smiled maliciously. “The only one dying would be you, though I dare say I’d feel pain by it. Is it really worth it, sacrificing your life and letting me live ... almost … unscathed, and maybe even insane? What would _that_ do to your precious world?” 

Blinking, she mulled it over. _Yes, it was reasonable to assume that he had done things that made him survive even the Killing Curse, but if he was immortal, how could they’ve ever had hoped to get rid of him in the future? And if he wouldn’t die by the Beltane ritual as the year expired, the only sacrifice would be herself. An insane Voldemort was a frightening thought, because the man in front of her was, at the very least, capable of rational thought. Still she wasn’t ready to give up on the efforts of getting out of the ritual._

Looking him into the eyes, seeing no traces of red, only the blackness within, she nodded slowly. 

“It’s a fair point,” she said. “I want to make a deal.” 

“Finally,” he said, exhaling like he was relieved. 

She arched an eyebrow, before pointing her finger into his face. “I have conditions. You’ll be working on getting rid of this bond too, and you’ll give me access to a number of books for my work too. If there isn’t a solution to be found, I agree to consummate within the year. In return for my compliance, you will, before the act, make an Unbreakable Vow, promising to not torture me in any way or kill me, and to stop any of your minions from doing the same.” 

Voldemort drained his pint, Vanishing the foam from his upper lip, before the tip of his tongue traced his upper lip, chasing after an invisible fleck left by his spell. 

Hermione shifted on her chair, like it was suddenly hard to sit still. A dull, throbbing ache manifested in her lower belly, and with a flush of shame, she knew that her knickers had become soaked - _dripping for him, for Lord Voldemort. For him to touch her, to please her, to take her._ Swallowing, she buried those thoughts as deep as possible. 

“It’s a deal, little Goddess,” he said, voice giving her shivers down her spine. “I’ll look into it - _with you_ \- though I don’t believe there’s anything to be found, and as the year ends, you come to my bed.” 

He took her hand, giving her a formal handshake, and she felt the tendrils of his power creep up her arm, melting into her skin, the promise settling somewhere in her chest, like a hand waiting to squeeze the life out of her. 

“I’ll hold you to this Vow,” he murmured, fingertips ghosting over the insides of her wrist, making her breathless, “and I’ll look forward to taking your virginity by the end of the year. In the meantime, you’ll get whichever books you want on the subject matter.” 


	12. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’d thank you to not threaten me,” she growled, feeling extremely riled up by the fact that the only one who had even noted her birthday was Voldemort. And he, of course, wouldn’t have the decency to say ‘happy birthday’!

True to his word, she received a tall stack of books on ritual magic on her desk the next day. The books were old and filled with dangerous dark magic - the kind that would be prohibited at Hogwarts. _The kind of books that Flourish and Blotts might not have, at least not out in the open. Maybe she’d have to foray into Knockturn Alley to find such books, or scour the private library of an old Pure-blood mansion._ A frisson of excitement ran down her spine, and all day at work, she eyed the books greedily, stealing glances at them like they were a treasure waiting for her to explore. 

Taking the books home, not minding the odd glances and questions from her coworkers at the mysterious pile of obviously precious and expensive books, she read them all in the space of two nights. The fact that she was now reading Voldemort’s own collection of books on dark arts and rituals, initially made her a little queasy, especially when she found his written notes in the margins. His handwriting was a beautiful, bold flowing calligraphy, as if he had aimed to perfect his penmanship. _But then again, it was_ **_books_ ** _. What was not to like? She now had access to knowledge she’d never have without his help._

Sipping happily at her mug of cheap, too-perfumed black tea in the tea salon, she almost thought fondly of him, for being such a collector of books and knowledge. The scent of expensive vellum and old ink made her feel strangely at home, like _books_ were enough to ground her in this time. 

The elderly proprietors of the tea room had by now grudgingly accepted the fact that she spent her afternoons and evenings in the tea salon, making each cup of tea last for hours by reheating it with her wand. 

The salon’s dry sandwiches and crumbling scones constituted her dinners, though at times, the old lady tutted, wispy hair framing her wrinkled face: “Girl, you should spend some money on a real meal at times. Doesn’t the Ministry pay you enough for that? Have another pot of fresh tea, at least! It doesn’t cost that much, you know.” 

Hermione always answered, unfailingly polite, with her best good girl smile on: “I’m saving for a rainy day, you know, Mrs. Greenway.”  
  
She always stayed until closing time at eight pm, only reluctantly taking the narrow stairs to her damp attic room. Hermione was always the last customer to leave, and the old couple always sighed as she left, relieved that she had finally taken the hint after polite hemming and hawing, the bell ringing as they closed the door behind her. 

As for what she did on her own, upstairs in her room… Every night she read in bed until bedtime, the old parchment and the faint scent of ink oddly enticing. Inevitably, though she didn’t want to, need would arise, and she touched herself, fingers finding heated, soaked flesh, writhing on her narrow cot, thinking about _him,_ even thought shame crashed through her in the wake of her orgasm. 

Voldemort had also managed the transfer of her to serve his Committees, making her colleagues raise their eyebrows, whispering about who was behind the book deliveries to her desk. At work, she now saw him almost every day, and she couldn’t help watching him. _Observing him, really, examining his actions, like he was a strange species to be studied, a thing that lived in the underground stone chambers of the Ministry._

On the surface, Voldemort played the role of a hardworking politician, certainly a demanding one, requiring loads of documents and reports, but he also badgered, coerced and convinced the other members to follow his lead with an ease she couldn’t help admire. _Admire, as in a job well done, but certainly not with any warmer feelings behind it._

There were also the times when the others went still, staring out into the air with glazed eyes, and she knew Mind Magic was at work. He would sit still, twirling his pale wand, looking at the other members in turn, before he was done, and the meeting seemed to continue as before. _Except, of course, for people having changed their minds on certain issues._

Every time he employed Mind Magic, he’d give her a small, knowing smirk. _She kept quiet, and he did whatever he did. It was like they had a silent deal on mutual destruction, as if she outed him, he’d do something to retaliate, Obliviating her or worse._

Still, his presence made the air seem heavy, like there was a hidden, but strong undercurrent, threatening to drag her down, tearing away her grasp on the reality of everyday life. _And she knew what it was. It was … desire, unbridled want, and somehow, she knew she added her own to his, making the current stronger, like a wild underground river in flood: Never acknowledged, but real, like a faint thunder from the underground, a throbbing, uncontrollable menace making the earth vibrate._

Shifting in her chair, feeling an uncomfortable stab of want at the sight of his long pale fingers twirling his wand - _the things those fingers would be able to do to her -_ Hermione shivered by the unbidden, unwelcome thought. 

Almost like a snap of his head, black eyes were trained on her, with a powerful, burning intensity that made her breath stutter. For once, there was no infuriating, knowing smirk on his face, and _gods_ , the floodgates opened and with a silent roar, _need_ crashed over her, like she was drowning in the river, making her eyes glaze for a moment, waves of unbridled lust rolling through her, making her belly cramp up, like her release was imminent. Sucking in her breath, she fought the current - _don’t give in, don’t think about how it would be if he touched you, don’t think about how glorious it will be when he finally takes you, oh, don’t think about his mouth, his wicked tongue, don’t think about his…!_

Curling her hand around her quill, deliberately pricking her finger deeply with the sharp end, causing a acute pain as her hand bled, she fought for control, fought for command and mastery of her own body and mind, focusing her attention on the pain in her finger, jabbing the sharp end of the quill even deeper in her finger. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a deep breath. 

She was back in control, but he was not. 

No one seemed to notice, but his jaw was almost slack, his eyes taking on a reddish tint, like he wanted to _devour_ her, as if he wanted to strip her, to throw her down on the table, to take her right there and then before the entire Magical Discovery Committee, to ravage her body, to make her scream for him to satisfy himself - before he too mastered himself, giving her a tiny nod, his throat convulsing, like he fought the urge to say something. 

Feeling nauseous, she staunched the bleeding in her finger with a small Healing spell, keeping her eyes firmly trained on her parchment. _Gods, this was dangerous. So very dangerous, the Beltane spell working against her every wish. Proximity… that was not a good thing._

  
  
  


Xxxx

On her way home, she spotted Lily loitering outside Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, impatiently tapping her foot against the cobblestones. The September drizzle was surprisingly cold, and in spite of the Impervius Charm keeping her dry, Lily seemed to be freezing, huddling her arms around her midriff. 

_This… maybe this was a chance to talk to her, without Snape present?_

Changing her course, Hermione went straight towards her, plastering a wide smile on her face: “Lily! How are you? It’s been such a long time!” 

Turning around, Lily’s face split into a big grin: “Hermione! Good to see you. You look...” her grin faltered, and worry shone through in her eyes: “...uh, thin?” 

Hermione grimaced. Apparently, her lack of lunches was beginning to show. “I’m good,” she said hurriedly, “and you? I bumped into Snape, and he told me you were…” 

“Pregnant!” Lily confirmed with a pleased smile. “We really are. I’m so excited!” Then she looked sternly at Hermione, taking her arm. “You’re going to dinner with me, whether you want to or not. Let me just tell Severus…” 

Opening the door, she shouted inside: “Sev! I’m taking Hermione for dinner. I won’t be late!” 

There was a muffled sound from within, but Lily slammed the door shut. Turning with a graceful swerve, she took Hermione’s arm, saying: “It’s on me. Pie for dinner, right? I know just the place.” 

Hermione blinked, but nodded, following Lily skipping along towards Pludderforth’s Pie Shop down the street. 

Seated in the cosy pie shop, chequered red and white tablecloths and curtains brightening the room, she tucked into a large, steaming Shepherd’s pie in front of her, Hermione listened to Lily telling her all about her plans for the baby, the clothes she wanted to make or buy, what kind of crib she was looking at and how she was currently Transfiguring a second bedroom to the Muggle flat they rented. “We’re saving up for buying a proper home, but that’s too expensive. Sev’s doing so well, and everyone says he’s going to get his Mastery at record speed, and I’m working at Charms and Disillusionment Inc. until the baby is born. Work is real fun, and I’ve been creating new Charms to expel fog and manipulate the weather for gardening.” 

“That’s fantastic!” Hermione said, wanting to know more about her job, but then Lily turned the topic back to the baby, gushing about creating a colour scheme for the room consisting of Slytherin green and Gryffindor gold to represent both of them. 

Shaking her head, she couldn’t help wondering if this was how Lily had acted when expecting Harry. _Had she been so vibrantly happy, so overjoyed? With a sting in her heart, Hermione remembered that it was her own fault that Lily was robbed of her future._

Taking Lily’s hand abruptly, stopping the flow of words, she asked quietly: “Are you really this happy with Severus? What about James?” 

Lily cocked her head, her face understanding, before she patted Hermione’s hand, like she wanted to soothe her. “I know why you’re asking. I remember all of it, how they took him before leading me off. I know how this will sound, but… In the end, it was a blessing, really. I’ve always cared about Sev, and if it wasn’t for us … drifting apart, this would have been my future anyway. We were always meant to be. He’s my best friend, my soulmate, in a way, and James and me… it was never like that. Knowing what happened, I still think it’s for the best. I’m happier this way.” 

“How can you be?” Hermione whispered, staring wide-eyed at her. _It was like Severus had said, Lily remembered. How did she not go mad? How could she live like this, knowing that her boyfriend had been killed? Didn’t she know about Severus’ allegiance to James’ killer?_ Hermione felt almost disoriented, trying to focus her mind by tapping her spoon to break more of the pie crust, the delicious scent of minced lamb wafting up from her plate, though her stomach was roiling with disgust, anger and a bone-deep sadness. 

Lily smiled, like she almost pitied her. “They - _he_ \- took away the grief and anger for what happened to James. I can see it clearly, now, without the cloud of emotions. Believe me, there’s nothing artificial about my feelings for Sev. I’m not under the Imperius, and I’m not under a love potion. I love him, like I always thought I would when growing up. It’s just that… I don’t _feel_ anything about James’ death. That’s merely a fact that happened in my life. Don’t worry about me, Hermione. I am happy, and Sev is … the man of my dreams. He’s been nothing but respectful and loving, taking care of me. He’s never pressured me into _anything_.”

“That’s … hard to believe,” Hermione muttered, “though…” 

“No more of that,” Lily said firmly. “Instead, you should take more care of yourself. You have a job. Why aren’t you eating properly?” 

Hermione shook her head, unwilling to believe the stark, bleak reality of what Lily had just told her. _Taking away someone’s emotions like that… it was awful, wasn’t it? Robbing them of the finest thing in their life. Though, something told her Lily was earnest. She did feel love for Severus - it was real, however little Hermione liked that thought. Lily had actually sort of chosen Severus, the manipulation extending to her feelings about James’ death._

With a small grimace, she let it go, though the injustice and horror of it was … unbelievable. _It was a fine piece of Mind magic, she had to give Voldemort that. At the very least, it would be years before Hermione would be able to undo such a manipulation, and to be frank, she didn’t even know where to start. In all probability, she’d have to learn how to be a Legilimens._

Instead, she sighed. “I’m saving up,” she said weakly, scoping up the last of the delicious potato mash. “I’m going to find a Master abroad for my studies. I need money for travel, for buying books, and...” 

“No wonder,” Lily said fondly. “You might be the most determined student I ever saw. Reading at all hours… Any master should feel lucky to take you on. You’re so very competent, you know that?” 

“Well,” Hermione said, tears almost welling up - _she wasn’t used to such kindness anymore, people believing in her, giving her support -_ “so far, no one has offered.” 

“Just you wait,” Lily told her sagely, “it’s going to happen. You’re still younger than most, you know, so some Masters might need a little convincing. In the meantime, don’t be silly. Eat, for Merlin’s sake. You won’t get any smarter if you starve.” 

Xxxx

To his frustration and humiliation, the girl was _better_ than him in smothering the effects of the Beltane bond. Whenever he was attending his committees, seeing her posing as a prim little scribe, in her cheap second hand robes, pretending to be the perfect clerk while her wand did all the work with that clever little spell of hers, he had to Occlude at full tilt to not act like a drooling idiot. _If anyone noticed, he’d casually Obliviate them, but the girl… Oh, he didn’t like her knowing the extent of his … obsession, but somehow - across that damnable bond tying them together, she knew. The Beltane had wrecked his desires, fixated his lust to this girl in a way he’d never imagined was possible._

He was constantly half-hard, and his attention kept wandering, while she seemed to be close to unaffected. Voldemort speculated if this was merely because she had been fighting the bond and he was not, and she was helped in her efforts by her intense dislike and hatred of his future self. On one level, it infuriated him to no end, because he should be second to none, but on another level, it… _spurred …_ him on, made him want to chase her. 

“You’re watching her very closely, my Lord,” young Narcissa said, gliding up to him at a break in the proceedings of the full Wizengamot, Augustus trailing behind her like a shadow. She was representing the Malfoys today, as he had sent Lucius abroad on an errand, and Voldemort suspected Lucius had asked Augustus to keep watch over his young wife. _As if anyone would accost the lady Malfoy in the middle of the Ministry - besides, he knew the woman to be quite a competent witch behind her ladylike facade._

Though ... Lucius probably didn’t know Cygnus had wagered Narcissa’s virginity to Augustus in a bet - and lost. Abraxas knew, of course, but he was a gentleman Death Eater and kept mum, even though Lucius and Narcissa had been engaged since early childhood. From the looks Augustus gave the young lady, he hadn’t forgotten it either, though Narcissa seemed unperturbed. _It had been a fine evening as the Inner Circle watched Augustus enjoy himself, while Cygnus sobbed in a corner. Come to think of it, the man hadn’t made a bet ever since._

As always, Narcissa looked stately, her long blonde hair pulled back from her face, flowing down her back in a style that was oddly reminiscent of how Lucius kept his hair. 

“I am,” he said quietly. Augustus stared at Narcissa in abject horror, clearly expecting him to take her to task for commenting on anything her Lord did. 

“If I may be so bold, my Lord,” she continued, one hand twining her heavy velvet skirt like she was nervous, “People might notice. You are not known for chasing girls.” 

Voldemort barked a laugh. “No, I’d be surprised if _that_ was a part of my reputation. This, however, is different.” 

Augustus nodded as if he was in on it, but from his expression, he wanted to be as far away from this conversation as possible. 

“Of course,” Narcissa agreed readily. “You are, after all, spellbound to chase her, as she is to reject you.” 

“What?” he blinked, training his gaze on young Lady Malfoy, making her squirm under the intensity of it. “I beg your pardon?” 

She bit her lip, eyes flicking from him to the girl, who was slouching against a column in the distance, her nose buried in a book during break. “I’m sure _you_ know all there is to it, but… I thought…” she faltered. 

“Out with it!” he spat, taking a step closer, making Augustus back off a few steps. Narcissa, however, stood her ground. _Did this little brat of a supposedly noblewoman know something he didn’t about the Beltane?_

Though, by now she looked suitably chastened. He almost smirked, actually, she was terrified, and Augustus was now shuffling his feet, but he was _still_ hovering protectively behind the witch. 

Narcissa whispered: “I meant… When enacting the Beltane as in the old days, the God chases the Maiden, and she flees him. Both of you are playing that part, I imagine. You, chasing her, she is trying to escape you. You’re magically bound to act that way, until you catch her.” 

At that he groaned silently, almost smacking his face for his own stupidity. _Oh course…! He had fallen prey to the rite._ But he should have seen this earlier. He had only been interested in the core of the ritual, what it meant on a deeper magical level, and not considering _the form_ had been a mistake in this case. The form - the old set of actions pertaining to the ritual, though it was only rarely reenacted today - had a deeper connection to the ritual magic than he had expected. _Such an easy mistake to make, and how foolish. So easy, that a witch in her early twenties had found out before the great Lord Voldemort._

Still, Voldemort couldn’t help feeling slightly better about it. _His strange behaviour was caused by the ritual magic, nothing less. He hadn’t just turned into a … besotted … fool by his own account. And the girl was behaving according to the ritual too, it wasn’t as she’d be able to resist him outside the strict boundaries of the Beltane._

Grudgingly, he said to Narcissa: “I believe you are right. Still, the God always win, the Maiden always surrender.” 

Augustus looked so relieved by his acquiescence, it was almost silly. _Had the man developed some kind of feeling for the witch?_ Dipping quickly into Narcissa’s mind, he was surprised to see they had kept up quite the passionate love affair after that first evening - extending into her marriage to Lucius. _Well, wasn’t that a surprise, though he should be used to it by now. His followers did all sorts of silly things. Things he couldn’t even begin to fathom, pertaining to that human weakness - love._

Their antics were always baffling, and this - _careful and calculating Augustus fucking the Lady Malfoy on the side_ \- was a suicide mission indeed. He was willing to make a wager himself that Abraxas didn’t know about **that,** and young Lucius would surely have a fit, forever wondering if the future Malfoy heir was a true Malfoy. The young witch, though, had to be of a much more daring and callous nature than he’d previously thought. _Maybe Narcissa was a suitable candidate for the Inner Circle, more so than her husband._

Narcissa composed her face quickly, before making a small curtsy. “Thank you, My Lord. Glad to be of help. There are stories, you know, my great grandmother was one of the last to hold up the traditional Beltane proceedings at our summer home, at the Blackthorn Manor. The horns and whatnot… bonfires, chasing in the fields… leading up to the ritual coupling and the marriage of the God and the Maiden...” Her nervous little laugh was a little too loud, making people stare. 

Curtly, he nodded, before moving back into his cramped pew, and the crowd surged back as the bell tolled, signalling that the break was over. Settling in, he saw that the girl was ignoring him, her quill poised at the ready to write. 

In the committees, however, it was different. In fact, she observed his every action with a scrutiny worthy of an experienced spy. If she in fact _had_ been aiming to thwart him, he should have been right to worry. _However, oddly as it was, she seemed to have no such plans, at least not immediately._

Being physically closer to her also took its toll on him, making it harder to concentrate. Bored out of his mind by the haggling in the Finance Committee, he silently Confounded the whole lot, magic slithering inside their feeble minds, making their minds pliable, soft and easy to mold to his liking. 

The girl sucked in her breath in surprise, making heat twist down his spine - _her mouth so delectably round and open, a perfect fit for his cock, and oh, would she gag around him, or would she take him down her throat, swallowing him down, yes, he’d teach her how to take him properly, and he’d fuck her mouth until..._

Slamming down his Shields, almost in a panic, the loss of control imminent, he focused on his work instead, planting new ideas and opinions in the mind of the Committee members to increase the budgetary spend on St. Mungo’s. 

Later, he leaned back in his chair, watching the voting unfold to his wishes, and the girl looked almost confused by the result. It was almost as if she didn’t think spending money on the hospital was consistent with his character. _Well, it showed how little she knew of his plans. It was vital to support the research going on at the hospital_ , _because prolonging life was, after all, one of his main goals, and St. Mungo’s had some very fine scientists and researchers._

The next motions had been proposed unanimously by the idiots in the Committee for Sports, and sent to the Finance Committee for scrutiny. A low, amused snort emerged from the girl as he protested the motion to spend more on the Department of Sports and Magical Games, like she too deemed this to be unimportant. Some of the members seemed to be in favour of the motion, but this was clearly a ridiculous waste of money, and he would have to intervene - again. 

Glancing at her, he gave her a small smile as he firmly squashed the motion of giving tax relief to the professional Quidditch teams, as well as the insane idea of setting aside 15 % of the teams from the Magical Catastrophe and Accidents Department to work on a program for better concealment of the Quidditch pitches around Britain. For once, the girl looked like she approved his actions, giving him a small, relieved nod. 

His real concerns seemed to be less of a surprise to her. The girl just shrugged, arching a dark eyebrow, her lips forming an exasperated pretty pout as he threw himself into the work in the Magical Discovery Committee and in Magical Law. He pushed numerous motions, trying to influence greater research activity - especially into the darker aspects of magic. Depending on how strongly his fellow members felt about his motions, he used a variety of Mind Magic, from quick Charms like the Confundus or a deviously twisted Cheering, using the full range from Mind Modifiers up to Obliviates and the Imperius. 

As he let up the spells, she’d inevitably straighten her shoulders, making his eyes drag down to the swell of her chest, the tempting pulse point at her throat, the thin skin pale against the dull, dark grey of her robes, making him pull _hard_ on his own Shields to not lose control again, straining to be calm and composed. _What if he bit her, marked that pale skin with his teeth, showing the world that she was taken…_

Shaking himself before he went down that path again, he knew he should be pleased with the progress of his real work. Research would become far darker, and the Order, those dumb coots, were sitting ducks, just waiting to be plucked. Not even Dumbledore was able to sway his decisions, however hard he tried in the full Wizengamot. Come to think of it, the old man seemed to think he’d get by with asserting his influence. Unfortunately, that didn’t work against the bribes, the groundwork laid by Mind Magic and sheer, good politicking. _Voldemort had the Ministry in hand. If that only went for the girl as well…_

Remembering what Narcissa had told him about the ritual chase, he came to the conclusion that more active measures were needed. No running in the fields, of course - that was plainly ridiculous - but a _chase_ could be conducted in so many ways. 

Xxxx

The books kept coming, as soon as she returned them to her desk, but she was no closer to a solution to remove the Beltane Bond. 

On her birthday, she decided to splurge by buying cake with her tea. There wasn’t a lot to choose from in the small tea room, and the poppy seed cake proved to be a little dense and dry. 

“Happy birthday, Hermione, you’re of age, now,” she whispered to herself, washing down the cake with the cheap, black tea she always bought. Blinking back what couldn’t _\- shouldn’t -_ be tears, she forced down thoughts of how this day would have played out in her own time. _Presents from her parents, Harry and Ron, the House-elves making a delicious birthday cake, hugs and letters, well-wishings and…_ No, she had to snap out of it, or else she’d bawl her eyes out, sitting alone in the dingy tea room with her crumbling cake. 

Taking a deep breath, she plunged back into ‘ _Rites of Reduction: Counter-curses and their origins.'_

Then the bell on the door dinged, and no one but Voldemort sauntered in. He took one look at her reheated teacup and her half-eaten cake, before ordering an entire pot of Darjeeling First Flush. 

“I can’t stand subpar tea,” he muttered, sliding into the seat across the table, looking around the room with a small moue of disgust. 

“How nice to be in a position to drink better, more expensive teas, then,” she sniped back, eyes on her book. 

“You could be too, if you accepted my offer,” he said. 

Hermione bit down on her lip, before slamming the book shut. 

“What do you want, apart from grinding my lack of Galleons into my face?” 

Voldemort arched an eyebrow. “I take it, being poor is a new experience, is it?” 

Glaring at him, she nodded. “I lost everything, being sent into the past. My books, my family, financial support. All thanks to _your_ follower.” 

“Ah, Antonin did me a great service,” he said silkily, with a small smile. “I should reward him, Can you think of anything he’d like?” 

Shuddering, she remembered. _“I hope I get to use you,” Dolohov had shrieked at her, right before he sent her back. Voldemort knew this, he had seen her memories._

Instinctively, she pressed her back against the chair, as to get as far away from Voldemort as possible, but then her anger took over. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed, “or else you’ll be one follower short.” 

Voldemort shook his head, looking amused. “I’m sure. He’s too valuable for that. Here, have some tea.” 

He Vanished her reheated, cheap tea, before pouring her a cup from his teapot. 

Staring suspiciously at it, she wondered if he could have poisoned it without her noticing. Sniffing it carefully, she sent a Diagnostic spell at it, feeling mildly surprised as it came out blank. 

“A little paranoid, are you?” he said with a small frown. 

“You would be too, if you were me,” she said, sipping daintily at the hot, delicious black tea, savouring it, the fragrance rich, not like the usual strongly perfumed teas she had to buy. 

“Yes, well…” Voldemort said. “I’m actually here to see how your research goes. Not too promising, is it?” 

“No,” she admitted grumpily, “nothing as of yet.” 

“I told you,” he muttered. 

Leaning forward, she said, speaking slowly, like he was slow on the uptake: “I don’t want to lay down for you. I want to find a solution. You’re .... Even if you weren’t _you_ , I would never consider a man _that_ much older than me.” 

“I can assure you, Granger, I’m very much up to the task,” he said, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “My age doesn’t matter. It never will.” 

She snorted. “Aiming for immortality, weren’t you? Taking steps, wasn’t that what you told me? That will not stop you from growing old, you know.” 

Startled, like he was surprised she had remembered what he had said, Voldemort glared at her, red specks shining through the Glamour in his dark eyes, like glowing coals. “The foolishness of youth,” he said slowly, voice almost a hiss. “You think you’re immortal, and then suddenly, you’re not. You should know, you’re of age today, aren’t you?” 

“I’d thank you to not threaten me,” she growled, feeling extremely riled up by the fact that the only one who had even noted her birthday was _Voldemort_. _And he, of course, wouldn’t have the decency to say ‘happy birthday’!_ “This is bad enough as it is, thank you very much.” 

He snorted, looking around in the tea room again, before saying dryly: “I can see that.” 

With a huff, she opened her book again - _his book, come to think of it_ \- and commenced reading. 

He shifted on his chair, clearly not used to being ignored, and narrowed his brow. Clippedly, he said: “What do you think I would do if I had you, since you’re so nervous? Why are you so opposed to going through with this? Believe me, it will be easier.” 

Shaking her head, she sneered. “I have no idea, you being … _you_. Probably something awful, needlessly painful and humiliating.” 

He snorted, looking amused. “I could, but for this to work, I need you to enjoy it too. That’s the point of Beltane. You will enjoy it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. _As if she’d ever enjoy doing that with him!_ She squashed down hard on all those dreams and private moments that seemed to occur more and more frequently. 

They were quiet for a while, and the proprietors were starting their lockdown routine. Soon, she’d have to leave, but she didn’t want Voldemort to find out where she lived. 

“I…” he said at last, as the old lady started to wipe down the counter, sending pointed glances at the two of them. Slowly, he continued like he was unsure: “Actually, I came here, because I want to set up a regular appointment with you. To discuss your readings. Maybe we can find a way around this. Together.” 

Hermione furrowed her brow. _Was this a … peace offering of some sort?_

“I thought you didn’t think it possible?” She kept it closed off, but inside, a small light bloomed, and her mood brightened. _If he actually tried, if he actually worked with her to find a solution, it would be very helpful. Though she didn’t like it, she had to admit that Lord Voldemort would be more knowledgeable than herself._

“Maybe you’ll see something that I can’t,” he said slowly, looking at her with a half-smile curling around his lips, making something unfurl deep in her belly, her nipples tightening. _Oh no, not again! Don’t think about spending the night with him, letting him…_

“Ok,” she said, almost breathlessly, as the old man made the lights blink. “Time to go. I can do that.” 

“See you tomorrow,” the old lady shouted after her. Then the door shut behind them, a twinkling from the little bell above the door, and she was standing on the street, in the pouring rain, beside Voldemort. 

He immediately threw up an _Impervius,_ covering both of them. Glancing around, in the dark street, cobblestones glistening in the street lamps, he said, glaring at her like this was her fault: “I should see you to wherever you live. You running around in the dark… I wouldn’t want a repeat of the Fawley incident, girl. Don’t risk your life and mine by taking risks.” 

Voldemort moved to take her arm, but she backed off with a small sneer, Apparating off, landing just on the top of her stairs, outside her warded door. 

At first, she grinned at getting rid of him that easily, but then she froze, realizing that he might have heard the crack of her arrival. Taking a quick peek outside the narrow window on the stairs, she saw him still standing outside, his face trained on her window. His dark gaze met hers, and he tipped his head. _Merlin, she had literally told him where she lived. She might have to move, this was dangerous. Though she was reasonably sure she had done a good job with her warding, she wasn’t sure if her spellwork would hold if he tried to break in._

There was no crack, just a small whoosh of air, and he was suddenly standing beside her on the narrow top of the stairs, having Apparated almost on top of her, and she stumbled back.

He took a quick step forward, steadying her, caging her in against her door. 

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” he said, his tone slightly mocking. “So very rude, or … naughty.” His voice dipped almost an octave, and she gasped, eyes wide open, as liquid fire ran down her spine, electrifying her nerves, making her body tingle. The Beltane bond roared to life, crashing through her with the force of a gale, and she took an involuntary step forward into his arms. 

At that moment, she didn’t know what she would do if he had made advances. Instead, _he_ took a step back, eyes burning with his true red colour, but he took her hand, big palm engulfing her own, before turning her hand over. 

Slowly, he inched his head down, kissing her hand, soft lips brushing her skin, holding her gaze the entire time. 

It felt as if time had stopped, as if she couldn’t breathe, and as he raised his head, the slow, mischievous smirk made her heart hammer. Turning her hand over again, he lowered his head again, kissing her wrist, teeth nipping slightly at the sensitive pulse point. 

Standing up abruptly, he whispered: “Good night, little Goddess. I’ll see you soon.” 

Voldemort Disapparated soundlessly, and she stood still, the encounter having left her speechless. _Oh Lord, this time he had been in control, while she was not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up on New Years' Eve. I mean, when else? He needs a 'happy' birthday, doesn't he? *grins* 
> 
> For those of you who thought Lily got a rough deal in the last chapter... Actually, I think this is even worse. I promise I'll make it up to Lily in a later fic. (Yes, there's a short Snily rumbling around in my mind).


	13. Cooperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then Voldemort said, his voice low and husky: “Witchling - Hermione. You have my word, a magical binding contract. I’m not going to harm you when we finally consummate.” 
> 
> The sound of her name shouldn’t feel so sinfully good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, and of course: Happy birthday to our big bad! <3 
> 
> Enjoy, this is a fairly long one.

Augustus’ office deep inside the Ministry had no daylight, only the standard Ministry-issued floating orbs, emitting a soft greenish light as if the room was underwater. The tiny room was cramped, especially when visited by himself, Abraxas and Antonin, the thick stone walls and the low roof leaning in, pressing everything together. 

Voldemort had, of course, taken the best chair, leaving Augustus to the rickety visitors’ chair and the others standing. The tall bookshelves were filled to bursting, scrolls and books heaped precariously on top of each other, like the whole thing was about to come down if Augustus was foolish enough to add another scrap of parchment to the piles. 

“We’re ready,” Augustus said, a small smile of happy incredulity on his face, “I really believe we are. We’re going to legalize Mind magic on Muggles tomorrow at the full session, and next, the Statue of Secrecy will fall. As we all know, Dumbledore will go down with it. You’ll be the next Chief Warlock, my Lord. And it’s going to happen - _soon._ ” 

Voldemort nodded, feeling so very pleased - _things were finally going his way -_ stretched out his legs, making Antonin and Abraxas shuffle aside to make room for his feet between them. Abraxas leaned to the side in an obvious attempt to avoid a large scroll poking him in the back of his head. 

“What will Dumbledore do?” Abraxas asked slowly. “Will he aim for a duel? Or…?” 

Antonin snorted. “Of course he will! He’s never forgotten that he defeated Grindelwald, and he’ll see it as his task to defeat our Lord too.” 

Feeling a wash of pleasure - _plans coming to fruition, and finally,_ **_finally_ ** _last night had he remained in control while she had lost it -_ Voldemort smiled. “And we won’t let him. Here’s what we’ll do. He’ll challenge me, but we’ll make it seem like an unreasonable challenge from a demented old man, high on his former glory, bitter from the loss of his position of authority. I will need all of you - the entire Circle present - to intervene with _certain_ people’s perception. No blatant Imperio’s in the meeting - that must be done beforehand, but you’ll do discrete Confundus Charms and slight alterations of opinions. Listen, here’s a list of who I want well in hand before it happens, and the rest can be dealt with at the meeting.” 

Conjuring copies of the scrap of parchment in his hand, the pieces floated over to his followers. _The handwriting was, of course, very far from his own, written by an unlucky Muggle last night. The fellow had been struggling to master the art of the quill, but a series of the Cruciatus had made him more motivated ._

Abraxas bowed his head, admiration shining in his blue eyes. “As always, my Lord, you’ve found a solution.” 

“The Aurors will break up the duel, make it seem like self-defense on my part, and he’ll be sent back to Hogwarts in disgrace.” Almost as an afterthought, he added: “Of course, the school governors will remove him shortly afterwards. We can’t have a … mentally unstable … Headmaster, now can we?” 

“And then,” August whispered, glee in his dark eyes, “And then….!” 

Xxxx 

Hermione had almost groaned as she rolled out of bed that morning. _How could she be so stupid as to tell him where she lived?! Someone like him would take advantage of that, and having him just outside her door was not good, not at all. Would her wards hold if he tried to break in? More importantly - would_ **_she_ ** _hold out against the magical pull of the bond?_

With a sort of sick fascination, she examined her conflicted emotions. The Beltane bond wanted - _no, demanded_ \- her compliance, trying to force her to lay down for Voldemort, but how could her mind ever accept someone like him? She could feel it in her bones, like a thrumming, confusing warning: “ _Flee him, find him_ , _escape him, enchant him_ , as if her mind were at war with itself and her body. 

Still, the logical, rational part of her told her that it was better to survive than to die or go mad. _It’s better to let him have you, than risk death for a principle._

Putting her pleasant professional expression on her face, she entered the Ministry, heading straight for today’s session of the full Wizengamot. As usual, she was early, preferring to be in control and prepared, even for sitting still, dawdling, as she pretended to take notes while her quill did all the work. 

“Miss Granger!” The unexpected encounter made her scowl, and she turned slowly around, facing the Headmaster of Hogwarts. 

“How are you, these days?” Dumbledore looked for all the world like a genuinely nice old man, interested in the well-being of his former students, but she knew better. _He had been studying her in the meetings, and she was sure, he tried to keep tabs on what she did - or didn’t do._

“Fine, thanks for asking,” she said curtly, and he raised his eyebrows at her bluntness. 

“No time for small talk, then,” he muttered, before boring those blue eyes into her. It felt as if he was trying to dig through her brain, and she looked away hastily. 

“How are you holding up with the bond?” he said, going straight for what he wanted to know. 

“Good.” She stared determinedly at the columns, the morning crowd beginning to trickle into the large antechamber. _I will not give Albus Dumbledore access to my mind,_ she repeated to herself, over and over, trying to imagine a mighty wall around her mind, something that would withstand warfare from the Middle Ages, like battering rams and trebuchets. 

“Are you any closer to what we discussed previously? I know for a fact that you’ve been turned down by most Masters. There is only one way forward, Miss Granger, and you know how to serve the Order.” 

Incredulous, she gave him a quick glare, before averting her eyes again. “My choices are my own, Headmaster,” she said frostily. “I have no allegiance, and will not form any on this day, this time. I thank you for your concern, but you don’t need to bother. Your war isn’t mine, and neither is _his_.” 

“Oh, but you can’t avoid taking sides,” the old man said calmly. “I don’t think you’ll ever join him, so consequently, you’ll support the Order. You are an ally. _My_ ally.” 

With an exasperated sigh, she opened her mouth to answer, when the _last_ voice she wanted to hear in this situation interrupted: “Is he bothering you, Miss Granger?” 

Voldemort’s deep voice affected her, making her feel warm and mellow, but she certainly wasn't going to admit to that to any of them. He moved up to her side, looming over her, staring eye to eye with the Headmaster, standing possessively by her side, challenging Dumbledore by his arrogant pose, hand on his wand. 

Blinking slightly - _would Voldemort challenge Dumbledore in the Ministry for something like this?_ \- she grunted. _No, this was a trick, designed to ingratiate himself to her, in all likelihood._ “You both are,” she gritted out, turning on her heel and marched off to her seat. 

Her coworker, the ever curious Isabella Murrington asked: “What was that about?” 

“Nothing,” Hermione said curtly, but the woman smirked knowingly. “Oh come on, it’s not as if we don’t know who’s supplying you with all those books. I mean, it’s strange, isn’t it? I never pegged _him_ for someone who’d engage in a formal courtship, however odd the gifts prove to be. Books… Though I daresay you love to read. He might be spot on.” 

“He’s not!” Hermione barked, cheeks flaming, and the woman raised her eyebrows. 

“Certainly not, my dear. Do be careful, he’s a lot older than you. And his reputation… Well, you’re of age, but still. I’ll give you one piece of advice: Mind your own body, never trust a wizard to set the Contraception Charm or brew the potion.” Isabella nodded sagely, completely at ease as Hermione almost sputtered, her embarrassment and rage fighting for dominance. _If there was one thing she didn’t need, it would be rumours about Voldemort and herself._

Xxxx

“Please, you can do better than that.” The first argument she had laid out to him was a rough theory, really, but he tore into it, destroying her assumptions brutally. 

Cocking his head arrogantly, he looked at her as if she had disappointed him. Hermione swallowed, realizing that he’d expect her to present fully formed theories, not rough drafts. 

It was a week after her birthday, and Voldemort had showed up at the appointed time in the tea saloon again. 

“I should read up on sex magic instead,” she mumbled, “because I think there might be something worth exploring on how a bond forms. Do you have any books on that?” 

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back into his chair, looking amused. “Most certainly. You do realize, however, that sex magic deals with three things, and three things only? Enhancements of pleasure, gaining power over the other or fertility.” 

“Still,” she said stubbornly, but he shook his head, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. 

“No, little Goddess. It can’t be a surprise to you that most of it deals with what a man can do to a woman, especially within pleasure and power, but there are spells and rituals designed for a woman to use on a man too. I don’t want that kind of knowledge in your hands, if your efforts in avoiding this doesn’t succeed.” 

Narrowing her eyes, she muttered: “You’ll do the research along that line, then. And you’re right, if I found something that could be used against you, I would...” 

He leaned back in his chair, arms folding over his chest, and _gods, she did not notice his biceps bunch by the movement!_ Her eyes dragging over him, she had to admit he was well-built. Tall, with broad shoulders, and while he wasn’t overly muscled or beefy, he did look strong and healthy. Swallowing, she shoved all such thoughts down. _It was wrong, and the damned bond must have made her superficial, making her ignore his blatant evil in favour of his good looks._

Then Voldemort said, his voice low and husky: “Witchling - _Hermione._ You have my word, a magical binding contract. I’m _not_ going to harm you when we finally consummate.” 

The sound of her name shouldn’t feel so sinfully good. As he leaned forward over the table, taking her hand, somehow, she couldn’t let him go, goosebumps forming on her skin as the pleasure of his touch washed over her. 

Feeling almost drunk, she stared into his dark eyes, _and Merlin help her,_ she believed him. _That couldn’t be right, he must have put her in some kind of thrall, because surely, he’d trick her, torture her and take her body and soul while he was at it._

Taking a shuddering breath, she snatched her hand back, saying faintly as she rose from her chair: “I’m leaving, I can’t…” 

“Good night,” he said, and she stopped, turning to him, mouth open - _remembering that he’d come after her just to say goodbye -_ before saying hastily: “Goodbye, for now.” 

Xxxx

  
  


Chasing the little witch had proved to be more … _fun …_ than he would have thought, and their meetings had proven to be enjoyable. She had a very keen grasp on magical theory, far beyond her years, and he quite appreciated their discussions. On the other hand, his body craved to be close to her, and he was sure, while she didn’t want to admit to it, she needed him too. At times, he’d find himself holding her hand over the table, warming her seemingly perpetual cold fingers, relishing the touch of her small, smooth hand in his. 

Such moments were inevitably ended by her wriggling out of his grasp, staring reproachfully at him, though at times, he could have sworn it was _her_ taking his hand, not the other way around, as if the bond forced her to seek him out too. 

“I’ve been thinking about the Beltane,” she announced, “I mean, obviously I have been a lot, but I’ve been considering its origin with the old religion. I really didn’t know that much about it before, as my parents were _Muggles_ , as you know.” 

Spitefully, she smirked at him, and he scowled, knowing that the girl liked to remind him of her blood status, rubbing it in, as it were. _Her blood was even filthier than the blood from his father, and that was saying something._

Interrupting her, he said smoothly: “That’s why this is a mere inkling of what you’d learn as my Apprentice, you know.” _It was true, he’d like her to be his Apprentice. Or maybe he just enjoyed the thought of being her Master._

“So,” she continued like she hadn’t heard him, though she threw him a filthy glance, “there is the God and the Goddess, which _of course_ doesn’t exist except in people’s imagination, but _magic_ exists. The God and the Goddess are the embodiment of magic, they represent different aspects of magic, male and female, dark and light, death and life, and the Beltane is merely a joining of those aspects. It’s cyclical, just like the year itself.” The girl looked pleased with herself, as she well should be, and Voldemort’s eyes widened. 

_Merging magic… The Beltane only set out to merge their magical power through the joining of their bodies, disbanding the bond on consummation, and he had planned to tap into that output, taking the waxing fertility in the ritual for himself, rejuvenating him, letting magic transform his body to gain eternal youth. But what if this also could be utilized to ensure true immortality? Making the merge last, merging more than their bodies, their magic and …_

He swallowed, pretending to listen as the girl talked, mind racing at breakneck speed through the possibilities and impossibilities of this. And there it was, the final solution to immortality and youth, shining like a clear-cut diamond in the darkness of his mind, sparkling with the imbued power of a divine revelation. 

  
  


Xxxx

“And that,” he concluded, voice sonorous and calm, “is why we need to lift the ban on using Mind magic on Muggles. We are all able to do what the Obliviators are doing, and their knowledge could be used for special cases and crime solving, helping out the Aurors. Merlin knows we need to use our resources in a sensible way.” 

The Wizengamot applauded, and one by one, the members rose, securing him a very solid majority, only Dumbledore and his now pitifully small flock remained seated. 

Voldemort bowed, and sat down, pleased with the results of several months of hard work, cashing in the victory from all the Unforgivables, bribes, blackmail and sheer political persuasive work his followers and himself had executed. Catching Augustus’ eyes, he nodded slightly, and the other man rose, asking permission to speak. 

The Speaker beamed at him, and Augustus set the _Sonorous_ Charm on his voice. “Fellow members,” he began. “Today, I ask you: Is it time to reconsider the Statue of Secrecy? From this day, we can all make sure that if there are any … unfortunate … incidents, we’ll be able put a stop to it instantly. Come on, we’re all responsible adults here, and our children are at school. Is the Statue really necessary after today?” 

The silence was mind-numbing, people were watching Augustus with mouths half-open, and then the mumbling started. A few shouted “Hear, hear!” while others looked genuinely shocked. Still, many nodded thoughtfully. 

Augustus sat down, and for a few moments, people looked around, curious as to who would oppose or support this motion. 

Voldemort waited, eyes looked on the old, venerable man on the opposite side. Blue eyes met dark over the rotund empty space in the middle of the stone chamber. A small grimace flew over Albus Dumbledore’s face, and the old wizard sighed, getting heavily to his feet. 

“ _I_ oppose this,” he said, voice ringing out with the command of years and years of authority. “This is dangerous, leaving the Muggle world at the mercy and the conscience of dark wizards, people who’ve gladly killed, tortured, raped and maimed before. They will now have a free rein with the innocent and the helpless, and no one will be able to stall them or drag them to justice. We cannot do this, for the sake of humanity. We cannot do this, and still be good people. We cannot rescind our protection of those who need us. We all know what people like…” Dumbledore stopped, taking a deep breath, and pointed straight at Voldemort, “...people like _him_ will do.” 

A shocked gasp ran through the Wizengamot, and Voldemort straightened his shoulders, letting shock and hurt show on his face, like the accusations were unfair and unfounded. 

For a moment, all that could be heard was the furious scratching of Hermione Granger’s Charmed quill, the thick Ministry-approved parchment being rapidly filled up with black ink and angry words. The girl herself stared from Dumbledore to himself, as if she expected them to pull their wands. _And she was right. They would._

“I will not stand for this,” the old man said, blue eyes blazing with righteous fury, “I challenge you, self-titled Lord, _Voldemort_ as you’ve chosen to name yourself. I challenge _you,_ Tom Riddle, to duel me, to finally settle the matter between dark and light. I challenge your _evil_ , because I will stand in your way, and I will not allow you to destroy our world.” 

Minerva McGonagall tugged furiously at Dumbledore’s sleeve, sitting beside the Headmaster, and she whispered so loudly, it could be heard in the entire chamber: “What are you doing, Albus? SIT DOWN!” 

The Speaker protested too: “No, Albus, this is not how… We must respect the Wizengamot, we’re _not_ duelling in the chamber… Please, gentlemen…” His voice faltered, as Voldemort slowly rose from his seat. 

In his chest, his heart was hammering, excitement flared through him, adrenaline pumping, and still, there was that nagging, tiny voice of worry. _This was Dumbledore, who defeated Grindelwald. Would Voldemort be enough? Could he best him? Merlin, would Lord Voldemort be_ **_powerful_ ** _enough?_

He shook his doubts off, because this was not about to go this far. _This would not be a duel unto death, no matter what Dumbledore thought._ Nodding slightly to Abraxas, the other man signalled to Lucius, who was strategically placed by the door. Lucius slipped silently out, ready to sound the alarm to the Auror guards on the outside. _Though Voldemort knew, they’d not be there right away. Considering who was involved in the duel, they’d be sure to bring in reinforcements._

Silkily, he responded to Dumbledore’s challenge. “I don’t know why you believe such things, Albus. I’ve tried to show you all that I have changed, and I am using all my powers for the good of our society. This - my motion - was approved by the Wizengamot, and I’m happy to know that we all trust each other _with our powers,_ that we all believe no one wishes to do harm. But you, Albus, you don’t trust _me_. I assure you, my intentions are good.” 

Casting a glance at the girl, he noted that she had narrowed her eyes. _He knew for a fact that she didn’t buy into anything he said, but luckily, it seemed like many others did. Yes, he had laid a good groundwork._

“You’re right, Tom, I don’t trust you, not at all. I give it to you, you’ve done a great job pretending to be a good man. _But you are not._ You’ve fooled, cajoled, blackmailed and Imperio’ed your way into society’s good graces, but this has to stop. You cannot be allowed to destroy even more.” 

“Now, really Albus!” an angry voice shouted from the crowd, and the mutterings increased in strength. 

Voldemort spread his hands as if in defeat. “What can I do to persuade you of my good intentions, Albus? Are you willing to forgive, to let the past die? I am, and I would appreciate working with you, for the good of our world. You are a great wizard, and your contribution is valuable. I am extending my hand in a peace offering - will you take it, Albus, or do you insist on this duel?” 

“Be reasonable, Albus!” someone shouted, while a witch yelled: “Bring him down, Albus, he’s a murderer!” 

Dumbledore straightened his glasses on his crooked nose, and shook his head sadly. “Oh Tom, I don’t buy your so-called redemption. In the Wizengamot, you’ve proved yourself as a fierce manipulator, and I have no doubt you’ve used dark spells for your tactics to succeed so rapidly. I stand by my challenge.” 

Slowly, Dumbledore raised his wand, moving down to the rotund centre of the chamber, red ceremonial robes swirling around him, standing there expectantly, his eyes never leaving Voldemort. 

“I’m sad to see you do this, Albus,” Voldemort said calmly, “and I’m loath to defile our court of law by fighting. However, I feel that I’m forced to defend myself against these accusations. I cannot let this stain my honour and my name.” 

Shaking his head in feigned sadness, he walked down the narrow stairs, past the stunned audience. The girl’s eyes were wide, and she mouthed to him: “Don’t do it! Stop!” 

For some reason, that touched him in a strange way. He didn’t believe for a second that the girl cared for him at all, but obviously, she didn’t want him to die. _She, however, didn’t know that Dumbledore had walked right into his trap._

Squaring his shoulders, he raised his wand, nodding at the old Headmaster as if he was sad. “I never wanted it to come to this, Albus. You can still stand back.” 

“Never,” the old man said, anger burning in his eyes. _Dumbledore didn’t seem to take well to the role Voldemort had cast him into, as the unreasonable angry old wizard, but oh, did he play that role so well._

Nodding, he bowed deeply to Albus, receiving a curt, jerky bow in return, and took a step back in the dueling stance, waiting for the first spell. 

It came fast and silent, like the snap of a whip, careening towards him like a rotating wheel of molten fire, and no, his _Protego_ wouldn’t be enough. Striking back, his _Bombarda_ deflected the glowing wheel, sending it up into the roof, where it exploded, making mortar and bricks rain down on the esteemed members of the Wizengamot. Hundreds of Shields sprang up, shouts and frightened screams coming from them, and the Speaker was yelling from the top of his lungs: “This has to stop! Immediately! This is not duelling arena, it’s the Court of Magical Law! 

Voldemort nodded, stepping back, waiting for the next attack. _He would not attack, just defend himself, until the Aurors came._

A yellow flame hurtled towards him, blazing incandescent, making the rest of the room seem pale and grey, as if it leached all colour and light from the surroundings. 

Quickly, he ducked away, keeping his Shield up, feeling the scorching beam singe his Shield, before it impacted on the first row of the wooden pews, burning a hole, leaving a strong smell of burnt and blackened wood behind. 

“Now really! You’re destroying the chamber, Albus! Step down! Step DOWN!” the Speaker thundered over the racket. 

But Dumbledore sendt a volley of red arrows towards Voldemort, as if death by a thousand pinpricks came towards him, and Voldemort had no choice but to flatten himself to the stone floor, before springing up, wand at the ready, moving away from the impact. The crowd was now in a panic, and a young wizard had gotten the full brunt of the arrows in his torso, screaming hoarsely as needles burnt their way through his skin. People were running around, shrieking for a mediwizard or mediwitch. Several Healers also held a seat on the Wizengamot, and they were now fighting their way to get to the young man, as Voldemort deflected another curse, grey smoke threatening to engulf him, but it was dispersed by the strong winds of his responding “ _Ventus!”_

He itched to retaliate, to show Dumbledore his true power, but he held himself in check, waiting, deflecting, defending - and finally, the doors crashed open, fifty Aurors marching in, sending an unisone “ _Stupefy!”_ at Dumbledore, and a mighty _“Incarcerous!”_ at himself. 

He stood still, accepting the bindings for now, and with relish, he watched the tall, thin wizard that had been his nemesis fall, no one catching his body as he crashed into the hard stone floor. 

_All is according to plan,_ he thought, and as he again met the scared and shocked eyes of his little Goddess, he couldn’t help a tiny smirk forming on his face. 

Understanding dawned on her face, and she shook her head. _It was hard, though, to get her exact sentiments on what he had done. It was almost as she oscillated between horror and admiration for a coup well done, and he couldn’t help wondering: Which sentiment would she end up with?_

Voldemort breathed deeply, relishing the panic and chaos around him. Catching the eyes of Orion Black, he knew the victory revel at 12 Grimmauld Place would be at full tilt by the time he was released by the Aurors. 

Xxxx

“How will you observe the Samhain rite?” he asked, head cocked as he surveyed her notes. He read more rapidly than anyone she’d ever met - except herself. 

The other patrons in the dingy tea room were chatting quietly, most of them being older people, china clinking softly as cups were lowered to the saucers. Still, at times they glanced at the two of them, smiling knowingly, softly, as if they thought this was a strange courtship of some sort. 

Hermione almost snorted to herself. _Some courtship, consisting of meticulous research into ancient rituals, theoretical arguments and more books than she had ever had the pleasure to read. Some courtship, as if a man in his fifties should ever woo a teenager in a tea saloon, by plying her with books and knowledge. Or maybe…_ Her brows furrowed suddenly, because … if she were to describe the perfect courtship, it _would_ consist of books and intellectual banter. 

Blinking, she suddenly wondered if she had ignored his deviousness. _Had he formed some kind of plan to make her go along with the consummation? He certainly had shown exactly how manipulative he was with the Dumbledore affair. She almost felt sorry for the Headmaster, now discredited, stripped of his title as First Warlock and now facing inquiries on his role as Headmaster of Hogwarts. And this man before her had engineered it all. It was almost impressive, and she shouldn’t -_ **_wouldn’t_ ** _\- underestimate him._

Clearing her throat, taking a large sip of her tea - _the good quality tea that he bought for her, not the cheap tea she could afford on her own -_ she asked, looking curiously at him: “Observe Samhain? Do you … follow … the old rites?” 

“Most certainly,” he said, a small smile around his beautiful mouth, as his eyes flitted back and forth over her cramped handwriting. “It’s a source for gaining magical power. Besides, Samhain is the season of death.” 

He said that like it was obvious why he’d be interested, and she swallowed. _Remember, he’s a murderer. Remember, he’d kill you too, at the blink of an eye, if it weren’t for this connection through Beltane._ Still, even though with everything she knew about him, it was hard to believe that this intelligent, handsome man who behaved like a polite gentleman, carrying interesting conversation, was nothing but a ruthless killer. _She’d do well to remember it was a facade, hiding the sinister truth within._

Voldemort had kept supplying her with books, but he also came to the tea saloon two or three nights a week to discuss her findings - and his. _Though, he was merely ripping apart her arguments, showing her why her theories wouldn’t work._ Reluctantly, she had to admit she learned a lot from it. He was a far better opponent than anyone she’d ever encountered, and she felt real pleasure when he at times grudgingly said: “Good point.” 

Still, they were no closer to finding a solution. Hermione sighed, and tried another theory: “I believe it’s worth discussing going back in time. Avoiding the entire event - we could interfere, make sure I didn't enter the circle.” 

He tapped his lips. “That would break the timeline as we know it. Did you consider that our reality might become unstable? You, in and by yourself, is a factor that wrenched the future onto another track. Breaking it again might be … unwise.” 

“Yes, but we wouldn’t _be_ in this situation. Do you have a Time-turner?” 

“I do, but it won’t work,” he said slowly, reluctantly, like he would have _liked_ this easy way out. “Let’s say, I could go back in time, capture you and truss you up in the woods, making sure you don’t enter the circle. Still, I believe it’s not possible to loosen the bonds of Beltane by such a simple plan. _It would not work._ You and I are bound by ancient magic, and we would still be. Magic doesn’t obey the laws of time, it’s ... ” 

He stopped, but she finished his sentence, nodding: “...timeless, cyclical. Yes, I see that.” 

“Exactly.” He dragged his hands through his perfect hair, before continuing with a bitter twist to his mouth. “You know, your stubbornness is twisting the Beltane ritual into something it was _never_ meant to be. It was always meant as a quick release, tapping into desire, lust and the fertility of spring, powering the ritual by consummation. When you deny the consummation, I believe you merely … strengthen the ritual. The effects are unclear, though I suspect the bond is _changed_ by the prolonged wait.” 

“I realize that,” she said quietly. “It’s building in strength, isn’t it?” 

“Indeed,” he muttered. “Can you feel it thrumming? A brief touch between us is … ah, I know you feel it too, this … ” - _his eyes closed, as a shudder ran through them both as he lightly caressed her hand, before she snatched it away_ \- “electricity, magic running rampant through us. I dream of you, little Goddess…” 

“You do too?” she whispered, and he nodded, eyes hooded, before his lips tugged into a wry grimace. 

“I do, and these are … embarrassing dreams, for a grown man. I wake up covered in…” He shook his head, a hungry look on his face as he studied her. “When we do consummate, little Goddess, one time will not be enough.” 

She snorted, feigning disgust, though it felt like someone had lit a match in her belly, setting her afire. “One, it’s not going to happen. We still have time to prevent this. Two, if it did, once would be _more_ than enough.” 

“Oh no,” he whispered silkily. “You’ll be begging me for more. You have no idea, girl, of the things I want to do to you. The things this damned bond forces me to fantasize about.” 

His eyes darkened in fury, the red light from within shining through his Glamour, as he muttered: “And I … I can’t stand being bound, tied up this way. It goes against my very nature.” 

“I can imagine that,” she said dryly. “Mine too, you know. I want no bond with someone like you. Well, it’s about time you left. I’m done for today.” 

With an arrogant toss to her head, she rose, packing up her things, and went outside to the side door. Slowly, feeling so very tired - and frustrated, and … downright _horny -_ she dragged her feet upstairs. 

Then the door at the bottom opened, and rapid steps came after her, feet thumping on the stairs. 

Without noticing, she began to climb faster, until she was almost running upstairs, reaching the narrow landing outside her room.

A hand grabbed her, turning her around, and there was a deep growl: “You forgot to say goodbye, you insolent little witch!” 

Red eyes glared down at her with something akin to desperation, and her breath hitched, like all her inhibitions and her resolve were crumbling, falling like dust to the ground. 

Before she managed to say a word, he kissed her, and liquid fire ran down her spine, making her gasp in surprise. _It was so wrong, so right, so wonderfully right and good, and…_

His tall body crouched down to reach her mouth, strong hands gripped her arms to hold her still, and his tongue slipped past her lips, probing her mouth, dancing with her own tongue, like this was meant to be. 

Hermione shuddered, shivers of pleasure racing down her spine, as if her body was aflame. Her mind circled around that conflicting thought: _So right, but oh so very wrong, him being him… Someone like him would be exploiting any opportunity, wouldn’t he?_

She set her hands to his chest, her mind screaming for her to push him back, but the feeling of his hard chest, his heart hammering so fast in there, made her knees weak. 

He raised his head, looking at her, red eyes almost glazed over with desire, and she couldn’t help it - _Merlin, she_ **_couldn’t_ ** _help it! -_ she lunged forward, kissing him again. 

Voldemort groaned into her mouth, one large palm caressing her throat, fingers curling around her neck: “The bond… I need this. You need this, little Goddess. Let me… just a little...” 

And though her mind dearly wished to deny it, she knew he was right, because the bond fired off every nerve ending in her body, overriding every conscious thought, like the Beltane fire itself raced her veins. 

With a tiny mewl, her body betrayed her, her upper body arching forward, pressing her breasts into him seeking friction, making him grin into her mouth, her knickers dripping wet as her sex clenched around the emptiness he was supposed to fill. _But no, he WAS Lord Voldemort, and this was wrong…_ Whimpering in frustration, the conflict raging through her, she turned her head away. “Not yet, not before the year ends,” she choked out. 

Growling, he grabbed her hips, canting his pelvis to her, letting her feel the solid bulge almost throbbing against her. “This then, this, let me…” he rasped, grinding against her stomach, sliding his ... _his_ **_cock_ ** … against her body, rubbing her, making heat rise in her cheeks, because this was what she wanted, to feel him, and _oh gods_ , _was he big, so big, how would he feel inside her and…_

“Yes,” he hissed in her ear, “yes, buried so deep inside your sweet body, stretching you to the point of breaking, filling you up, making you come on my cock, forcing you to scream my name as I come inside you….” 

With a groan, hips stuttering, he thrust against her repeatedly, moaning, before he went still, panting harshly, back arched, clutching her hips so hard, she’d bruise. 

Voldemort took a deep, shaky breath. His skin was almost mottled, red and white mingling, and he leaned heavily on her. 

“I’ll return the favour,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes, a hand stroking absently through his hair as if he was embarrassed, and before she managed to even think about what that could mean, her overheated brain working much too slow, his fingers was inside her robe, hitching up her skirt, finding her knickers, and _OH_ , he was rubbing her _THERE_! 

Writhing against his fingers, hips humping his fingertips, clever fingers finding that spot which ached the most, making her nipples stand out hard, her breath turned to erratic moans, and he chuckled in her ear, breath tickling her: “So wet, so soaked for me, your body demanding to be taken.” 

A small sob escaped her as he slid his finger into her knickers, touching her slick slit, and he rubbed faster, at the exact right spot, and she couldn’t help it, it was too much, her abdomen clenching and convulsing, spots of darkness flickering across her closed eyelids, dancing in an eternal embrace with bright light, making her fly of the brink with a choked scream, thrashing against him, needing more, and LORD, he didn’t stop, and she was begging him to keep on touching her, her voice a broken, mindless mutter: “Please, Lord Voldemort, ah, more, and oh, please!” 

Squeezing her eyes shut, riding out her bliss, she couldn’t believe she had allowed him to bring her off like this. His breath was hot on her ear, as he whispered: “Sweet dreams, little Goddess.” 

And then he was gone, and all that was left was her own overwhelming shame. 

Xxxx

Shame was still burning in her cheeks as she put the kettle on the next morning for Madam Widdleswourth's morning tea. _It had been good last night, hadn’t it? Too good_. While she felt awful - _he was Lord Voldemort, for crying out loud!_ \- her rational mind tried to calm her down. Why should she sacrifice her life and sanity for this world? What had this time given her, if not grief and troubles? This would never be the future she had experienced, and she shouldn’t really feel ashamed to ensure her sanity and life. Doing this with Voldemort - well, last night had proved it wouldn’t be all bad. Afterwards, she could leave, go on about her life. _Maybe it didn’t matter that much, if there really was no solution to their Beltane bond. Still, it felt awkward and awful, as if she had betrayed her now non-existent future._

Putting the gigantic tea mug her boss preferred on the desk, placing the morning paper just so at the side, she went to check her mail. 

Two letters were waiting for her at her desk: One by an unknown hand, and one that was all too familiar by now. Shuddering, she dreaded what he’d say to her after last night’s encounter. 

Deciding to start with the other letter, she tore it open, staring at it for a long while, before a wide grin broke out on her face. She did a small dance in her tiny cubbyhole of an office, jumping around, accidentally setting fire to a stack of parchments with a wild outburst of magical joy. _A Master had accepted her! The French Arithmancer Adelaide Montmortiere in Vannes had agreed to take her on as an Apprentice!_

With a shout of jubilation, she sank down on her chair, tears of joy welling up, and it felt like the weight of the world was lifted off her shoulders. _Yes, this was it. She had a future, she was back on track, and all that was left for her in Britain was to finish this ridiculous bond to Voldemort. Hermione Granger would leave England to its problem, the rather large problem named Lord Voldemort. It wasn’t her business, anymore. She was free!_

Come to think of it, she needed to read his letter too. 

Tearing it open, there was a small scrap of parchment inside. 

_28 October._

_Urgent. Meet me at The Leaky Cauldron at seven. No Glamour._

_LV._

What was this about? What was so urgent?  
  
Wrinkling her nose, she stared at the beautifully flowing handwriting and the thick, good quality parchment. _He was an arse, wasn’t he? Even his handwriting had to look good, and she was sure, the extra-expensive vellum was just to rub in her own poverty. If she was going to spend money at the Leaky Cauldron, she couldn’t afford her usual sandwich for dinner, because she had to ensure she had enough for an International Port-key to Vannes. And for him to demand no Glamour…!_

Xxxx

  
  


Still, she showed up at the Leaky Cauldron, hidden beneath a deep cowl. If people at the tea salon and at work were starting to question her relationship with Lord Voldemort, she certainly didn’t want any more rumours to fly by meeting him at a pub. The Leaky Cauldron was full of people, like always, escaping the dreadful early October weather. 

Walking up to the bar, she stood in line to place her order, when she felt a tugging - _there was no other word for it_ \- in her mind, making her turn her head, involuntarily obeying the tug. Sure enough, Voldemort was already lounging in a corner, beckoning her over. 

She gestured to the bar, indicating that she was buying her drink first, and the man nodded, seemingly satisfied. 

Getting her cheap lager from the barkeep, she maneuvered through the throng over to his table, sitting down a little stiffly on the other side of the table. _After last night, she did not want to meet his eyes._

Voldemort was having dinner, eating some sort of lamb stew, and it smelled wonderfully. Her stomach almost growled, but she knew she couldn’t afford such a treat. 

Instead, she sipped her beer, while Voldemort continued eating, keeping her waiting, but a small, infuriating tug to his lips told her he very well _knew_ she couldn’t afford dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. Pressing her lips together, she opted to sit quietly, waiting for him to talk. _He was the one who had asked for this meeting, and after last night, she had no idea what she should say._

Though after a while, she began tapping her foot impatiently. The packed pub was getting warm with all the people and the roaring fires in the fireplaces, and it was starting to get hot underneath her cowl. _It had absolutely nothing to do with his proximity, she told herself sternly._

Finally blotting his mouth with a napkin, he said nonchalantly: “We have less time than you thought.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally we're moving into smut-land! *grins* 
> 
> The incident on the stairs is a small tip off to one of my favourite fics, the amazing ‘Exitus Acta Probat’ by JellyBellys. In that story, Hermione tosses off an inexperienced Tom Riddle on the stairs during a school project. Seriously, read this fic. It started in 2004, and is still being updated. Imagine that amount of writing stamina… (x_x).  
> It’s hot, funny bordering on crack, and with a very(!) convoluted plot. Look for it on FFnet.


	14. Samhain - the Rites of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort held on to her, and to her surprise, he stroked her wrist lightly, caressing her, before blowing on the quickly fading red burn. 
> 
> “Not used to pain yet, are you little Goddess?” he said so softly, a sort of tender threat in his eyes that scared her more than anything else she had seen from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one for you, and finally, the wait is up... Yes, the smut train will be running full steam! 
> 
> Also, warning for rituals, minor character death and Voldemort being ... uh, Voldemort.

“Oh,” she said, nodding, seemingly deep in thoughts. “It’s Samhain, isn’t it?” 

Voldemort blinked, having expected an explosion for springing this surprise on her - hence the very public setting at the busiest hour in the Leaky Cauldron. He had known from the start, of course, that Samhain was the end of the year according to the old rites. _Any time frame caused by the Beltane ritual would refer to the old cycle of the year._

“Yes,” he responded, looking carefully at her. She didn’t look upset at all, not even when the consummation she had so vehemently opposed was about to happen in a mere three days. He had to ask: “Aren’t you … worried?” 

“No,” she said, looking directly at him. “It fits very nicely with the news I got today. A Master has accepted me. I’m going to France for my studies as soon as possible.” 

“Who?” 

The question snapped out of him faster than he could control, and a small surge of anger tore through him. _She would accept this other Master, but not him? Who was this - a wizard who’d try to take advantage, like he would have done? Was this someone who’d be pawing his little Goddess, using her delicious little body for his own amusement, as she was bound by the agreement to her Master?_

However, the girl beamed at him, giving him the first genuine smile he’d ever seen on her face directed towards himself: “Arithmancer Adelaide Montmortiere. She says I can begin right away, when I’ve fulfilled my obligations at the Ministry. I have only two weeks notice on my job, so…” 

His shoulders slumped in relief. He knew for a fact that Montmortiere was almost a hundred, and besides, she was married. 

Blinking again to distract himself from that strange reaction, he shook his head, and again, words came out of his mouth before he had thought things through. “I’ll miss our conversations,” he told her. 

The girl snorted, giving him a wry glance. “I can assure you, it won’t be mutual.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her, and then she blushed, squirming a little on her chair. The next words dragged out of her slowly: “I suppose, I’ve enjoyed talking to you too. It’s been …” she clearly looked for a suitable word, eyes flitting around in the pub, before she breathily settled on her word of choice: “invigorating.” 

He raised an eyebrow at that. It was apt, because he too had felt stimulated by their discussions. _This was one of the things he enjoyed with the girl, she wasn’t sentimental, but had a clear logic bordering on callousness._

“So, I’ll … “ he hesitated for a brief moment, “I’ll also change the ritual. It’s not just the consummation, I’m adding a few touches.” 

Hermione leaned forward on her arms, boring her eyes into his like _she_ tried to scry his soul, before she asked: “What for?” 

Voldemort had to smile, because she saw right to the core, not asking what he’d do, but _why_. 

“As I told you before, I’ve taken … steps to ensure immortality. But I need to make sure I’m not growing any older. I don’t fancy spending eternity in a decrepit body.” 

She looked at him, really scrutinized him, and he was uncomfortably aware of the slight greying by his ears and the fine crows feet at the corners of his eyes. _Did she think him old?_

“I can see that,” she said slowly, and her judgement made him wince. “What does it mean for me, if I agree to this?” 

“Nothing will change for you,” he said, keeping his expression open and ‘truthful’. 

“What will my role in this … _modified ..._ ritual be?” 

“This is still a ritual for the cycle of the year. There will be a few incantations which I want you to say, some added sensory and magical experiences. Nothing bad, most of it will be…” - _he couldn’t help the wicked little smirk slipping over his lips -_ “... _very_ pleasant.” 

Seeing a faint flush to her cheeks at his innuendo, she asked instead: “Are you truly immortal?” Her voice was very level as if she was cool and collected, though he could feel she was not. 

“I am.” _If the Horcruxes couldn’t keep him in a body, rendering him a wraith in the future she had known, they weren’t all that useful, in his opinion. They were a protection against death, but not enough - not by far. It didn’t matter, because soon he’d achieve true, unquestionable immortality._

“Bloody hell…” she whispered, shaking her head. “Harry would never have had a fighting chance, back in my future, would he?” 

“Not really,” Voldemort said smugly. 

Brows furrowing, she muttered: “The best we could have hoped for would be to imprison you for eternity, or destroy your body, though there would be no guarantees for you not to return again.*” 

“Exactly. As you know, in return for your participation, I will give you an Unbreakable Vow: I’ll never harm you, and that extends to my followers as well.” 

“And you’ll not interfere with me in any way?” she asked sceptically. 

“No,” he shrugged. “You may do as you please, go wherever you want. Though, the invitation to join me stands.” 

Hermione snorted. “As if I’d ever…” The sneer on her face was quite ugly, but Voldemort couldn’t resist the thought that she was quite _beautiful_. 

“So, I’ll be free to go afterwards?” 

“Free, in any way you’d like it,” he said silkily. 

“Let’s make the vow - here, now,” she said, eyes very serious. “I don’t trust you, not at all, but … this, in return for you keeping your looks seems innocent enough.” 

Voldemort hid a smile as he nodded. “Give me a moment to Summon a follower. We need a Bonder.” 

Xxxx

Resting her head against the wall, closing her eyes with a small smile on her lips as she waited - _everything was going to be ok, she had an Apprenticeship, and she could leave Britain to its own, even though she had to lay down for Voldemort in three days, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all -_ nothing could ruin her good mood. 

This would work out, she had a plan, and soon she’d be able to start her new life, away from everything. There was nothing she could do about Voldemort being immortal. _That would be a task for someone other than her, and she wanted nothing to do with it - nor him and his wars. Though it was sort of amusing, really, that vanity of Voldemort, wanting a ritual to stay young, or at least not older than he was._

“Erm… hello, my Lord, uh, Hermione.” 

The familiar, deep voice made her open her eyes, and Severus Snape stood before them, fidgeting like he was nervous. He was still thin, though he had filled out a little, looking somewhat more like the grown man of her future. _And, his hair was clean and shiny, probably thanks to Lily._

“You,” she snarled, her good mood instantly vanished. “I don’t want to talk to you.” 

Voldemort shrugged. “He was nearby, he’ll serve as our Bonder. It’s fitting, isn’t it? The wizard who brought you to me will facilitate this Vow.” 

Eyes downcast, Severus nodded slowly. 

Hermione shook her head in disgust. “What the two of you did to Lily is beyond Unforgivable. If it only was leading _me_ to _you_ , like a lamb to slaughter, I might be able to look past it eventually, but the two of you destroyed Lily’s mind.” 

“Actually,” Voldemort interrupted, “it was merely an adjustment. It is true, young Mrs. Snape did harbour some feelings for Severus, though buried rather deep, and her feelings for the late Mr. Potter were rather shallow. It wasn’t _that_ much of a loss.” 

“Except for the loss of free will!” Hermione retorted, glaring at both of them, challenging them. With a sneer directed at Voldemort, she continued: “I know, however, that this isn’t something you care about.” 

“You’re right,” he said, looking amused, “I’m not bothered. Young Severus is, however, though he tries to hide it. Ah, the pains of being young. You’ll come around, Severus, with age and wisdom.” 

The glint in his eyes were cruel, and Severus almost flinched, but he stood firm, hands clenching the fabric of his robes. 

_These two… No, she shouldn’t expect any better of them. They’d manipulate, destroy and do whatever they did to gain power and people. She would stick to her plan, and save herself by getting out of the country._

“I can’t wait to get rid of you, to get away,” Hermione finally mumbled, stretching out her hand. 

At that, Voldemort looked irritated, his lips pursing, but he too extended his right hand, gripping hers, before looking expectantly at Severus. “Get on with it,” he growled, and Severus sprang to action, fishing out his black, ornately carved wand. 

“ _Indissolubili Votum!”_

A thin flame writhed out of the tip of Severus’ black wand, snaking around their wrists. It felt like a searing burn, making her wince, but Voldemort stood still, warm hand clasping hers like he hadn’t just received a red-hot wire around his wrist. 

Hermione took a deep breath. 

“I will willingly consummate the Beltane ritual with you, adhering to your modified ritual, on these conditions: Do you swear that you will never harm me?” 

“I swear.” The look in those dark eyes were indechiffrable, and his gaze felt like another kind of burn: hot, smouldering, heating her all over. 

“Do you swear that you’ll never allow your followers to harm me?” 

“I swear.” Severus was watching them, a look of amazement on his face, but he kept his wand steady, as another brilliant flame entwined itself around their wrist, sinking deep into her skin, the pain of the burn making her pulse throb and sweat break out on her brow. 

“Do you swear that you will not interfere with me in any way after the consummation, and I’ll be free to go away and live my own life?” 

“I swear.” The raw depth of his voice made her tingle all over, and he squeezed her hand as another blistering flame settled on their skin. 

She looked expectantly at Severus for him to finish, when Voldemort unexpectedly made another vow: 

“I swear that you’ll always have a place by my side, if you so choose.” 

Mouth open, she stared at him, unable to comprehend that he had actually sworn just that, no matter what he had said before. She was so distracted that Severus’ final incantation and the resulting flame came as a surprise, making her yelp, trying to withdraw her hand from Voldmort’s grasp. 

Voldemort held on to her, and to her surprise, he stroked her wrist lightly, caressing her, before blowing on the quickly fading red burn. “Not used to pain yet, are you little Goddess?” he said so softly, a sort of tender threat in his eyes that scared her more than anything else she had seen from him. 

Xxxx

He had to go through a few preparations before the ritual. Most of it was hammered out beforehand, incantations, spell theory and construction, but he needed a victim. _There would be no Rites of Death without a sacrifice, though the main sacrifices would be themselves._ It was also vital that his little Goddess never _saw_ the actual sacrifice, because she’d surely balk if she knew he’d draw runes on her body with fresh human blood. 

To power up the ritual, it was vital to find a victim of suitable magical strength. _Someone strong, someone who’d provide ample power for the rather heavy spellcasting, which - incidentally - he was going to perform while being inside the little Goddess._ Voldemort hoped he wouldn’t be too distracted by finally getting to have the girl, and he considered that to be the greatest risk to the whole ritual. 

He very well knew who he wanted as his sacrifice. _Someone who’d recently been ousted from the mighty, protective enhancement of Hogwarts. But … was it even possible to catch, imprison and kill Albus Dumbledore? How would he lure him out of hiding? Maybe … to offer help and advice to a former, wayward student. Someone Dumbledore would hope had returned to the light. Yes, Severus Snape would provide the perfect ruse for his trap._

Grinning to himself as he prepared another perfect cup of tea in his home, detailing the plans for the ambush, he whistled to himself, even dancing a few steps. _So close, so very close to victory._

And then he’d have to share eternity with _her_. _But maybe it wouldn’t be that bad._ At least, she was fiercely intelligent - and to his eyes, she was beautiful. 

Xxxx 

The look in Severus’ eyes was a hopeless desperation, but he penned the letter Voldemort instructed him to send without protesting, the other Death Eaters lounging about, chattering quietly, waiting for the call to action. 

“The Prince manor will be a nice place to raise your brood,” Voldemort said, sweetening the command, and the young wizard gaped.

“The Prince manor? But my uncle…?” 

“...has signed it over to you, as he suddenly decided to join the Guardians Against the Unseelie Court at Glastonbury Tor,” Voldemort explained with a small grin. “As you know, the Guardians aren’t allowed any other possessions than their clothes, their wand and a bowl. He won’t need a manor, while you and your little madam could use a proper wizarding home. I hope to see many strong wizards and witches from your blood, my friend.” 

_He was well aware that Severus was unsettled by Lily’s easy affection, the boy’s self-esteem suffering by the way he had gained his wife. A disgruntled, doubting follower was of little use, so in this case, Voldemort had decided to grant him a boon for his services. After all, Severus had brought the little witch to him in the first place, saving his future, and now, he’d give him Dumbledore. He deserved a gift of prosperity._

Bella and her tag-along husband, the three Malfoys, the Averys, the Selwyns, the Rookwoods, Antonin and the rest of his Inner Circle were all ready, because Voldemort would be taking no chances on Dumbledore’s escape. With more than thirty witches and wizards against one, even Albus Dumbledore would fall. The plan was simple, really. Apparition wards in place, and while one half battered what would surely be the Headmaster’s very impressive shieldwork, the rest would be ready to Stun as soon as the Shield broke. Dumbledore would go down in a flash of red sparks. 

They watched Severus’ owl flap off into the darkening sky, and now, they’d only wait for Dumbledore’s reply. 

Xxxx 

“It’s a shame you’re leaving us,” Marian Widdleswourth said, “but I do understand. You’re young, intelligent and ambitious, and attaining a mastery is the right path for you, not taking minutes at meetings. We’ll miss you, though, your work has been very solid.” 

“Thank you,” Hermione beamed, her need for praise sufficiently fulfilled, even though the work had been _easy_.

“I’ll write you a good letter of recommendation, and we’ll wish you the best of luck with your studies,” her boss said with a small smile. 

Hermione nodded, before leaving for her own tiny office. She’d work until 11 November, having ordered her Port-key for Vannes on 12 November. _To tell the truth, she wasn’t really sure if she’d ever return to England. Why come back to a country reigned by Voldemort? Why return to a country where she had no relatives, no friends or loved ones? No, Hermione Granger would become a cosmopolitan, living her life abroad._

_And, for some reason, she didn’t even feel the slightest pang of nostalgia. So many doors had been closed for her in England, it felt refreshing to start anew._

_That was, after she had met with Voldemort_. He had sent her instructions to present herself at the Avebury ring on 31 October, no earlier than eight pm, as the phase of the new moon started exactly at seven minutes past eight. It would be fully dark out there among the great old stones in the megalithic ring. She supposed he had chosen this as a place of power, and if it wasn’t for his promise to not harm her, she’d never ever have agreed to meet him in such a place. 

_Then again, when one’s first time was to be with Voldemort, she supposed a bedroom would be too trite and banal._ Though she was nervous, she was all too aware that the butterflies in her stomach weren't all due to fear. _Now, at this stage, she could admit to herself that she wanted him, if only this_ **_once_** _, and_ **_only_ ** _because of the bond._

Xxxx

The circle was dark and silent, except for the roaring bonfire he had going, coercing the Beltane flames back to life. Around the entire outer stone circle, stretching for hundreds of metres, he had set Notice-me-not-Charms and Muggle-Repelling Charms. The Muggle village standing partly on the site would not wake until well in the morning, the villagers believing they had a normal night doing whatever Muggles usually did, though they were actually Stunned, lying where they had fallen. _No one would interfere tonight_. 

The body of Dumbledore had bled out, his blood collected in a silver bowl and set under stasis to be fresh, and the corpse had been Transfigured to a stone altar. The fight had been brutal but quick, and it was a lesson in humility: Even the strongest wizard could easily be taken down, if outnumbered. _He’d better remember that._

Soon, the little Goddess would arrive, and he was ready for the ritual, ready for the consummation. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for the aftermath, though. _Their souls would need to merge. No matter how disgusting it was, he’d have to bind his soul to hers. Tied together, for eternity, pulling at each other, his darkness feeding off her light, her fertility nourished by his kills. Darkness and light, death and life, reigning supreme together. An eternal binding, a rite of life performed together with a rite of death. Oh, it would be a glorious piece of magic indeed, but being bound for life…._

Night was falling, and he could feel the power building, the might of the rites of death competing with the wild force of the rites of life, left unchequered and growing since Beltane. _Soon, he’d have his release._

Xxxx

The crack of her Apparition boomed out over the silent plain, as she landed just outside the Avebury village in the middle of the megalithic monument. It was dark, a moonless night, the only light coming from the starry skies and a red bonfire a few hundred metres away. The village was quiet, and she wondered what Voldemort had done to the Muggles. Tip-toeing to peer into the window of one of the houses, she saw a man sprawled in his chair in front of the telly with a vacant, glassy stare. Only the immovability of his limbs told her he was Stunned. Snorting slightly with amusement, she walked around the house, looking into the kitchen, where two teenagers sat with their homework, pencils poised as if they were in the process of writing. A woman was slumped over the sink, tea kettle in her hand and the tap running. 

Hermione winced, flicking a spell to turn off the tap. _Oh well, this wasn’t harmful, but she wondered if Voldemort had done anything to their minds. The Muggles would be ever so surprised if they woke up and found themselves in the same positions as last night, instead of in their beds._ Knowing Voldemort, he’d probably have manipulated their perceptions, though who knew, with his idea of letting the Statue of Secrecy go? 

Turning around, she trudged over the yellowing grass towards the bonfire. There was a tall shape waiting for her, standing beside the flickering flames, and she couldn’t help it, her belly clenched up as a rush of desire shot through her, though at the same time, a cold frisson of dread trickled down her spine. _This was it. She was about to give herself to Voldemort. Willingly, to be free of this Beltane Bond, free of him, free to go and shape her own life._

The walk to him seemed to take a long time, and yet it was over too quickly. Her anticipation was building up, making her almost quiver with vibrant power, as if her magic was _charging,_ waxing, upon reaching the middle of the remains of the smaller northern stone circle. 

“The Muggles did a number on this circle,” he commented, eyes dark and hooded, as he watched her approach. “Still, there’s power here. The earth is charged by past sacrifices.” 

Hermione shuddered, looking around. “That’s a theory only,” she huffed. “No one knows if they were really performing sacrifices…” 

“Oh, they did,” he said silkily. “The evidence may be slim, as the Muggles would see it, but you can feel it. Let it wash over you, feel the earth trembling with a thousand screams and shouts of pleasure. _Anything_ was sacrificed here, and tonight…” 

“Yes?” she said sharply, peering at him. _She most certainly hadn’t agreed to do a sacrificial rite with Lord Voldemort! If he tried…_ A small voice at the back of her head whispered to her: _Then it would be too late. You’d die, or go mad - or you could stop him._

Voldemort grinned like he knew what she was thinking, leaning against a large, grey stone altar. Oddly enough, it was devoid of the moss creeping over the other standing stones. “Tonight…” he said slowly, “your virginity, the Maiden’s virginity is the offering, along with the seed of the God.” 

She licked her lips, feeling as if she was trapped, and yet she wanted to - she wanted him to have her, the Bond pounding in her ears like a hammer banging on metal, growing steadily louder.

His eyes grew reddish, a wild light shining in them, and he whispered: “I can’t wait to slide my cock inside you, breach your hole, take you.” 

She almost recoiled at the coarse language - _though what did she expect_ _from someone like him_ \- but he continued: “Push inside your tight body, making you gasp and tremble, before I come, spilling my seed inside you.” 

Such words shouldn’t affect her, not in a good way, but still, her knickers became drenched, because _yes, this was what she wanted too_. 

But she had a question. “What if I fall pregnant? I’m …” her voice almost faltered…” my cycle... I’m ovulating.” 

He paused, tapping a long, slender finger against his mouth. “There’s that,” he conceded. “As you surely know, Contraceptives would disturb the conduit of power, lessening the ritual. Your fertility will make it even stronger as an added bonus. Then again, I have never sired before, so…”

“Because you usually kill them afterwards?” she retorted. 

He took it in his stride, saying casually: “True, but not always. Well, if it happens, I’ll claim the child as my heir. Don’t worry about that.” 

“Dear Merlin,” she muttered, exasperated, “ _of course_ I’m worrying about that.” 

Voldemort shrugged. “We can do the Contraceptive spell afterwards. It’s not failsafe, but it’s better than not doing it. I’m not really aiming for fatherhood.” 

She snorted. “ You … a father? I can well imagine that you don’t want that,” she drawled. “Believe me, I’m not ready for motherhood either.” 

At that he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I don’t think you are either, little Goddess.” 

Then he became brisk, businesslike. “Now, let us start the ritual. You’ve memorized the incantations?” 

_“_ I have,” she said slowly. “I have no objections, but I sense there are more to this. It’s not only youth, is there? This is also a … _travel_. A spiritual one?” 

He nodded, looking amused. “Very good. This - consummating the Beltane Bond, having you here, on this night - is too good an opportunity to waste. Yes, we’ll be travelling, as our bodies reach the peak.”

“We?” she asked. “I thought it was only you?” 

He gave her a wry glance. “If I told you I was going to do an exciting magical journey, due to a ritual where you are a participant, travelling to discover more about the boundaries of life and death … would you be satisfied sitting behind, not getting access to that knowledge? Would you prefer to _not_ dip your toes into the fountain of knowledge, my little Goddess?” 

Mouth open, she stared at him. _He was right, wasn’t he? Because this - this was her true thirst for knowledge, the very thing that had led her inside the Beltane circle. She wanted to know_ **_everything_ ** _. But look how that had worked out for her… Still, this was unique, an opportunity for once in a lifetime, taking part in a ritual with one of the greatest wizards in Britain, though he was also the darkest. The lure was there alright, forbidden knowledge glittering in the distance, just for her to reach out her hand and grab._

His infuriating grin was a challenge, and she nodded slowly, taking the plunge. “Yes. I want it.” 

Xxxx

_She accepted. It had been a small gamble, but he had been sure, this witch could never resist searching for knowledge._

Still, his shoulders almost slumped in relief, and he said: “Let’s start, then. A ritual for life and death, to fulfill our Bond, to search new knowledge and gain magical power, youth and … eternity.”

Her eyes widened, and he could see a small tremble went through her as he lunged for her, shoving her against the altar, claiming her lips. He groaned into her mouth, _so sweet, so right, so_ **_his_** _!_

She answered, her tongue plunging into his mouth, battling for dominance, small hands gripping his biceps hard, and he couldn’t help flexing slightly, somehow needing her approval and desire, like he’d never needed it from anyone else. Drunk on her sweet scent, drunk on the smoulder in her eyes, drunk on the feel of her soft skin, he growled: 

“Gods, my little Goddess, you feel so good!” Breaking free of her mouth, lips trailing down her throat, making her mewl, writhe against him, soft, silky skin heated like fire, he pressed her against the dead, Transfigured altar stone, a monument to death where he’d celebrate life, nudging his thigh between hers, grinding against her sex. 

He was hard, harder than he’s ever been, so ready to fuck her to within an inch of her life, but that wouldn’t do, no, his Goddess needed - _deserved_ \- more than that. 

Raising his hands to her breasts, palming her, thumbs tracing hard little buds, making her groan, her head falling back, made him look greedily at the pale expanse of her throat. He couldn’t resist, lips suckling a red mark on her skin, before he bit down - _marking her like they were animals_ \- making her squeal, as he growled “ _mine_!” 

“Ah!” Her gasp was a hot, furious snarl, and she twisted under him, turning her head and showing his aside, before lunging for his neck, biting him in turn. 

Voldemort grunted as she bit down - _hard -_ feeling her small teeth breaking his skin, blood trickling out. The slight pain was a thrill, turning him on even more, and it was so beautifully right that they both made each other bleed, spilling each other's blood, making it _hurt_. _Her blood for mine, mine for hers,_ he thought wildly, hands desperately clawing at her robes, before he willed her naked, clothes Vanished in the blink of an eye, and he descended on her breasts, suckling a taut nipple into his mouth, making her moan gutturally, pressing against him, like she too couldn’t get enough. 

“You’re still dressed,” she choked out, as if there wasn’t enough breath in her body to talk between the gasps coming from her heaving chest, and he smiled around her tit, tongue swirling around the little bud, barely grazing it with his teeth. 

“ _Divesto_!” His clothes fell away by her spell, pooling at his feet, and he was naked too. Goosebumps formed on his arms as the cold autumn air hit his body, though his back was warmed by the bonfire and his front by the hot flesh of his little Goddess. 

She looked down at him, cock at the ready and standing to attention, a wet drop beading at the tip, and her eyes widened. The way she sucked in her breath, muttering “Merlin!” was very satisfying, stroking his ego in a not so insignificant way. 

“You like it?” he mumbled, strangely proud of her reaction, before whispering in her ear: “I’m so ready for you, witch.” 

“Yes,” she whispered, almost shyly, but her hands weren’t shy at all, her small hands trailing down to touch him, exploring the soft skin covering his shaft, fingertips running over the throbbing veins and ridges, making him groan, hips stuttering forward, driving his cock into her fist. 

“You’re big,” she muttered curiously, “I can’t fit my hand around you. See… Can you feel it?” 

“Mhm,” he muttered, her words making his cock twitch in her hand, causing her to chuckle. It felt like molten fire running through his veins, like her small, throaty laugh had set him on fire. 

The throbbing in his cock turned up another notch at her next words, the insistence of it feeling like he was about to burst: 

“ Is this… is this _normal_? Or are you very … large?” 

“Large,” he confirmed, still palming her breasts. It was time to prepare her for him: His little Goddess was so new to this, and he’d need to make her ready to take him. Letting his hands follow her curves down her waist, to her hips, he pushed down, fingers reaching her mound, slipping in between her lips. 

“You’re soaked,” he muttered, delighted at her arousal, “so drenched and wet for me, little Goddess.” 

The girl swallowed audibly, before she formally acknowledged him for the first time in his role: “The Maiden is ready for the God.” 

It was his turn to chuckle this time. “Not yet, my sweet, I need you to come before you can take me.” 

“Oh,” the breathy reply made him smile even more, flicking his fingers over that distended little nub at her front. She splayed her hands over his chest, stroking him, as her hips slowly undulated against his fingers, dragging them through her soaked slit, pressing her nub against his fingertips.

Taking a step back, he lifted her to sit on the stone altar, before kneeling in front of her, smiling wickedly. “Open your legs for me,” he commanded. 

Her mouth open, she obeyed, and he plunged in, lips meeting slick silkiness with a salty and sweet taste. She whined above him, hands finding his hair, clutching at him: “Oh, God, oh Voldemort!” 

Smiling against her nether lips, tongue licking swipes along her slit before concentrating on her little nub, so hard, so ready that it almost quivered at his touch, he set to work, hands steadying her squirming hips, holding her still against his mouth. 

Her breaths increasing in a small crescendo, she moved her hips against him, back arching to get closer, and he could feel it - the Bond thrumming with taut desire, like a coil about to spring, getting closer, closer to her peak, and finally, she was there, thrashing, screaming his name - _oh Merlin, his Goddess screamed his name, begging him for more, to take her, to come for her, but he’d see her through this, and then - then he’d claim her for eternity._

When her movements subsided, he rose, quickly, like a snake about to strike, grabbing the silver bowl of dark red blood. _Heartblood, from his enemy, killed in cold blood, right here on the site, the light in those blue eyes winking out as the green lightning from his wand flashed._

Plunging his fingers into the bowl, breaking the stasis, he coated his fingertips in the dark, sticky substance. With dripping fingers, he painted runes on her body. 

Heavy-lidded, a dreamy expression on her face, she chanted with him as he drew on first her chest and repeating the movement on his own, the blood lightning up like fiery signs on their pale skin, singing like flames, dancing and flickering, creating a blood-tinged witchlight on their own:

“ _Āc,”_ for what they both wanted: wisdom to be gained. Her eyes were big, dark and liquid, but her desire to know _everything_ was just as strong as his own. 

As one, they whispered “ _Ēoh”_ for their dreams. They might not agree on how the world should be shaped, but more importantly, they both wanted to be the one that shaped events and society. 

At “ _Gēr Īor”_ for harvest and the cyclical year, she smiled at him, amusement shining in her eyes. This - the cycle of life - had led them here, tied them together, though they hadn’t wanted it. Still, at this point, he felt a deep satisfaction knowing that she had come willingly, obeying the force of the ritual, giving in to the pull of deep magic and her own curiosity. 

The flames of Beltane sparked around them, the glittering mantle of the God and Goddess sparkled around their bodies anew as they chanted “ _Beorc”_ for birth and liberation, but quickly, it was followed by the burning nothingness of “ _Cēn”_ for death and fire, for Samhain. 

They begged - _he begged_ \- protection from death and aging with “ _Eohl”_ , before he concluded the markings on their bodies with “ _Ehwaz”_ for the twin forces. Twin forces of life and death, light and dark, male and female, for the God and the Goddess - for _Voldemort and Hermione_. 

The power blast erupted with the force of a volcano, tearing through them, glazing their eyes, like molten lava shooting for the stars, cascading fire to challenge time, to change _them_ , glittering shards erupting like a starburst, bright light against true darkness, the forces of life and death about to merge, their vision becoming a nothingness of black and stark white. 

Blindly, he searched for her, feeling her silken thighs, pressing himself against her, the need for her burning hotter than ever - _and he was inside_. 

Xxxx

She drew a shuddering breath, almost a whining gasp, as the tip of that big cock breached her, centering her, bringing her back to earth after that otherworldly afterglow and the magical outburst. His face, his much too beautiful face was fixed in a grimace, like this hurt, as if he had gone too long for relief to come easily to him. 

Grunting, he pushed deeper inside her, making her squirm, because surely, she wasn’t able to accommodate him. He’d split her in two, destroy her, but in he went, push by push, making her breathing strangled, her walls protesting the stretch. 

“You’re … so .. tight,” he gasped, hands holding her hips firmly, shoving her onto him, and she winced, feeling him slide inside to the top. 

“Gods, I ... “ he panted, his jaw almost slack, eyes squeezed shut, and the big thing lodged in her belly twitching slightly, as if he was about to lose control. 

With shaking arms, muscles coiled so tight and tense, his right hand went to her front, rubbing the wetness there, finding her tiny nub nestled against his pelvic bone. 

“I’ll get you through it, you’ll come again, this is temporary, and _fuck,_ do you feel good on my cock,” he muttered, deft hands flicking her clit. The experience was different with his cock inside her, different, but better somehow, and the Bond, the damned Beltane Bond, now coupled with something dark and dreadful, like creeping grey death following behind green growth, made her nub swell, making him thrust first gently, then harder, her heart hammering as she hurtled towards completion once again. 

Voice strangled, he breathed into her hair: _“Anima Mea, Anima Vestra, Anima Nostra”_ and instinctively, she knew the correct response, as if it had always been a part of her, not just something she had memorized for the occasion, gasping out: “ _Simul Ligatum in Sempiternum._ ”

He jerked inside her, eyes widening, and she felt something slide inside her, like she had been invaded by even _more_ of him. _But it was good, so delicious, and..._

“Voldemort,” she whispered, eyes rolling back, “oh, Voldemort… You’re...” 

He growled “Hermione!” in her ear, hips snapping into her, cock slick with her fluids, breaking her open, making her climb for the heights even as she fell, weightless, _floating_ , **_flying_ ** and **_OH_**! 

Trembling, convulsing around the hot shaft inside her, squeezing him into herself, she barely noticed him grunting, hips thrusting erratically without rhythm, as he too lost himself in her, as she lost herself in him. 

At their peak, everything went dark, and they plunged into a place of nothing and everything. 

Xxxx

Opening her eyes, it was a swirling fog around them, but it was like no other fog she’d ever seen. It was dark and yet starry, making her feel elated, like she had come _home,_ to a place where she belonged, or rather to someone she belonged _with_. Voldemort was before her, still inside her, warm hands holding her up, and her legs slung around his waist, cheek nestled into his hard chest. 

But he _was_ inside her, and what more, she was inside _him_ , in his mind, curling up like a content cat, stretching her claws, sifting through his knowledge with a sated purr. He slithered through hers, gliding through her memories, familiarizing him with everything that was her. 

Together, they chanted - and again, she _knew_ the words: “ _Mors Vitae, Lux Obscurum, Relligo Nobis Anima Aeternam, Circlus Iuvenis et Fertilitatis!”_

In the fog, vast forces swirled around them, playing in the shadows and the flickering lights, and she felt a tether take shape, but this wasn’t unwelcome, far from it, it was right and true. They were both luminescent, shimmering like a Patronus form, as if their bodies weren’t corporeal, only spirits. Still, it felt more real than anything else she had ever experienced. 

With a sigh of pleasure, he kissed her hair, and she turned her head up, kissing him too, because how could she not, _he was hers, forevermore_. 

The swirling mist dissipated, and she could yet again feel the cold stone altar underneath her arse, but he was still warm against her, though her thighs were slippery and wet. 

“Drink,” he muttered hoarsely, pulling the silver bowl with what she suspected must be blood to her mouth, but she shook her head. With a knowing smile, he drank himself, lips tinted horribly red, before he kissed her, blood smearing on her mouth, forcing it inside her with his tongue. 

It inflamed her, enraged her, and she pulled away, but he was hardening again inside her, swelling up, as if he was stuck in there. 

Lifting her easily, as if she weighed nothing, he backed away from the altar towards the bonfire, and sat down on his haunches with her on top, before he leaned back, stretching out his legs. 

“Ride me, girl,” he said huskily, hips driving into her, urging her to move. 

_Oh Lord, she shouldn’t, but her body reacted to the hard intrusion stroking her insides._ Slowly, she began moving, hips rocking on top of him, and when he reached for her breasts, playing with them, coaxing moans out of her, she knew it was a lost cause. _She, Hermione Granger, was going to enjoy herself with Voldemort one last time, and anyone else could be damned if they tried to judge her. This was for her, for all the needless suffering she had experienced in this past, and she could leave this night, this moment by doing something for herself too._

“That’s it,” he grunted, hips snapping into her, as one hand slid down to play with her sex. “I want you to come for me again, come on my cock, little Goddess.” 

Smiling down at him, she said huskily: “I will, the Goddess will come for her God, though he’s taken her maidenhood.” 

It felt so good, the feeling of ecstasy blooming so much easier in her, growing like all the green things of the land, like the first dawn, and she arched her back, pushing her chest forward into his hand, slick legs grinding down on him, him meeting her every step of the way, his cock stroking something inside that added to her bliss. 

He rubbed her faster, twirling her little nub between his fingers like he was an expert, and maybe he was at that, given his age, and… she exploded, like fireworks inside of her, hot embers blasting her being, moaning, clenching as the surges rolled through her. 

His eyes widened, the true red shining through, before he bucked into her, muttering: “Oh fuck, so tight, so… I feel you coming on me, Gods, I can’t believe it….” 

His cock jerking, she felt something hot spurting from him, and she knew Voldemort had come inside her for the second time. Right now, she couldn’t care less about any Contraception Charms or anything, she just wanted to stay close to him, to ride out the aftershocks in her belly, falling asleep in her afterglow. 

Xxxx

The morning sun was pale, but it was enough to make her blink against the unwelcome light. 

Feeling strangely disoriented as if her memories had escaped her, she noted that she was outside, but warm and comfortable, lying in the hook of someone’s arm, underneath a large, black swathe of fabric - a robe, if she had to guess. 

Taking her bearings, everything came rushing back, and her breath caught. 

Raising her head, she looked at the sleeping Lord Voldemort. He looked good, even when sleeping with his hair mussed, his pale, broad chest with red sleep marks from the weight of her cheek. 

The problem was, she could still feel him in her head, just like during the ritual. _And between your legs, a snide voice in her head told her, making her blush at the sore stickiness she could feel down there._

But yes, he was definitely in her head, like a small bundle of emotions and thoughts nestled in her mind. 

Heart hammering in her throat, she shook him awake, gritting out: “What did you _do_?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Hermione wouldn’t know anything about Horcruxes at this point, and how they killed them off one by one. She left the canon timeline at the Battle of the Ministry. 
> 
> Sorry about Dumbledore. I like him, though he's a callous manipulative bastard, but he had to go... 
> 
> I really enjoy writing rituals. I still know nothing about Latin, so I just mangle it by google translate. (Goals for 2021: Learn Latin...) This time, I've upped it by mangling the the Old Futhark runic alphabet too: 
> 
> “Āc” for wisdom” ᚨ  
> “Ēoh - dream and the Tree of the World” ᛇ  
> “Gēr Īor - harvest and the year” ᛃ  
> “Eohl - protection and shield” ᛉ  
> “Beorc - birth and liberation” ᛒ  
> “Cēn - death and fire” ᚲ  
> “Ehwaz - twin forces” ᛖ


	15. Pieces of my Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slamming down wards around the entire auditorium, locking the doors, she barked: “Why are you here?!” 
> 
> “You know why,” he said calmly, striding down the aisle towards her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, we've reached the end. I hope you'll enjoy it!

Gritting her teeth, she very well knew who had sent the gift. It was a flat velvet box, now sitting on the shiny walnut desk. Her office was airy, the roof several metres above her head, and the walls were lined with bookshelves, with all the books, tomes and scrolls neatly categorized. 

The oblong box seemed so innocent, and yet she knew the giver was not. Though she had detected no malicious intent, she opened the gift with the utmost care - as always. 

On the inside, a necklace rested on black silk. Filigree silver, finely wrought into snakes entwining, with an emerald pendant at the throat. It was beautiful and so life-like, you could almost hear the hissing and sliding of scales against scales. 

Hermione sighed, knowing that this was the companion piece to the bracelet she had received for achieving her Mastery last year. Today’s occasion was her being accepted for the position as a Professor of Arithmancy at the Université de la Magie de Sorbonne in Paris. Her work was going splendidly, and her papers were widely acclaimed as breakthroughs in the science of Arithmancy. 

Though she was a shooting star in her academic career, at 24 years old she lacked the things most people had in their life: _A family and a lover._

Her colleagues couldn't really make up for the aching loneliness she felt at home in her flat in Paris. No one to talk to, no one to ask her how her day had been, no one to rub her back when she was tired or sad. _Though, in the back of her head,_ **_he_ ** _nestled like a constant companion, and likewise, she rode along in a part of his head. So close, yet so far away - some companion he was._

Snorting softly, she thought about her abysmal attempts of going out with wizards her own age. _Yes, she was free to do what she wanted, but at what price?_

Every single date she had attempted had made Voldemort rant in her head, and she could almost feel the sparks of his magical fury across the English Channel. Inevitably, she wasn’t able to do anything but have a nice dinner or a glass of wine, her concentration thoroughly broken by the enraged wizard in her head. The one time she had kissed another man, he had gone absolutely bonkers, filling her mind with hissing threats and whispers, promising to hunt down the wizard in question to tear him apart in the most painful way. 

_Of course, this went both ways_. If he even thought about touching another witch, she was _there_ right away, opening their connection, distracting him, tormenting him to no end, though she _never_ issued threats of dismembering those poor witches. To be frank, she congratulated herself, telling herself that she did a good job of saving the witches of Britain for having to lay down for their Lord, now ruler of the entire country. 

She had no compunctions for doing this, considering the way he behaved. _After all, he was the one who had made them soulmates for eternity. In her opinion, she thought he had it coming, whatever she decided to do - or not. At times, she wondered if he was surprised at his own level of possessiveness. She certainly was - she’d never expected him to bother with what she did._

When she had woken up after Samhain seven years ago, he had told her so very matter-of-factly - _like this was a normal coincidence, as if something like this happened every day in the wizarding world instead of being an unique event engineered by him_ \- that the two of them now shared pieces of their souls, rendering them soulbond, _soulmates_. 

A part of his soul resided in her, and a part of her resided in his. According to him, this was a version of a process he had used before, hiding pieces of his soul in objects. They were, effectively, each other’s living Horcruxes. 

The new soulbond their ritual had created was death and darkness tethered to life and light, making the cycle eternal and unbreakable. It was an Unbreakable Bond, forged in the World Beyond, transcending time itself, keeping them both alive for eternity, forever locked to their current age. The bond - _those mutual Horcruxes they had become_ \- would work to pull them back from the brink of death in an eternal cycle. If he was dying, she would pull him back, and if she was dying, he’d pull her back, like the cycle of the year slowly rolling forward, inevitably, without end. 

That fateful morning, Hermione had yelled at him until she was hoarse, even Cursing him with everything she got, but he threw up a Shield, standing there in the bright morning light, deflecting all her spells, though he looked uncomfortable. And in the back of her mind, she could feel his emotions. _He was surprised, a little hurt, thinking that Hermione should have been proud to be bound to him, as if eternal youth and immortality were the greatest gifts he could bestow on her._ Needless to say, that had enraged her further. In the end, she had Apparated off, going home to take a bath, trying to scrub the essence of him from her skin, though now, she’d _never_ get rid of him. Voldemort was in her head forever, and she was in his, and she had been tricked into this because of her own desire for knowledge, her need to learn _everything_. _After seven years, she wasn't as angry, though the way he had tricked her still smarted._

Since then, she hadn’t seen him. She had arranged to quit her job earlier to avoid him, and she hadn’t been back in Britain ever since. 

Hermione sighed, and slowly, almost reluctantly, she tried on the necklace. It fitted perfectly, the emerald drop nestling in the hollow of her throat, as if he had measured the size of her neck with his hands, remembering the measure ever since. _Though he knew her body as well as she knew his, because everytime she touched herself, his attention snapped to her, as if eager eyes followed her every breath and moan. Often, he’d stroke himself, large fist curling around hot, rigid flesh, making her feel his arousal too, as if they both were some kind of dirty voyeurs, getting off at watching each others’ pleasure. And maybe they were, at that._

The bond was at times intense, insistent, demanding her attention, but she had become quite adept at shutting him out during the day. At night though, it was sometimes different, but she had learned to not berate herself for this. _It wasn’t her doing, she certainly couldn’t undo it, and she had learned to live with it. Still, it made her lonely, setting her apart from a normal life. Though she had to admit, the bond had settled, making her feel like it had always been a natural part of her._

The set of pretty jewellery wasn’t the only gifts from him, because he’d been sending her things whenever she had achieved something important: Her first published article in the scientific journal Les Arithmanciens, her first contribution to a research project resulting in a book, her contract with the newspaper Le Monde Sorcier for a series of articles popularizing the the history of arithmancy, the first time she got a commission for the French Ministry of Magic, predicting the effects of their proposed school reforms, her first guest researcher lecture at the Université, and… _Yes, Voldemort definitely paid attention to her magical achievements._

Besides, the only good thing about this soulbond had to do with magic. At one point during her Apprenticeship, frustrated by lack of progress in her research, late in the night, almost desperate, she had pitched her idea to him, sending it through the bond. To her surprise, he had responded, giving input that eventually had led to a solution. So at times, she used the bond to discuss magic with him, and after a while, he began to ask for her input too. Those discussions were never frequent, and it was always strictly about magic. _But it was useful, and … interesting._

“Ooh, such a lovely collar!” Her fellow Professor, the pretty Madeleine de Lestrange, resident specialist in Ancient Runes, poked her head inside her office. “This is the same style as your pretty bracelet, yes?” 

Hermione nodded, bracing herself for what would inevitably follow. 

Madeleine smiled like the cat who got the cream, shaking her head of long shiny dark hair, and sauntered inside. “I knew it! I knew!” she sang as she sat down on Hermione’s visitor chair, leaning forward with that light in her eyes that signalled _juicy news._

“What do you know?” Hermione said grumpily, defensively crossing her arms over her chest, leaning back. 

“You’re so secretive, but somewhere, there’s a sweetheart sending you those pieces of exquisite jewellery. Tell me, is he handsome? I’ve never seen you with anyone, so … is he British? This is someone you know from England, no?” 

Smoothing her grey, pleated skirt, Madeleine cocked an eyebrow, waiting for an answer, impatiently tapping a dainty foot. 

Hermione sighed, shaking her head ruefully. “Oh, I wish it was like that. You have _no_ idea. But no, he’s … not… it’s not like that.” 

“Why does he continue to give you gifts, then? These are expensive pieces, my dear. Must cost a fortune. I think he really, really likes you, if he spends this much on you.” The sage expression on her face made Hermione snort with laughter. 

“Trust me, it’s nothing, absolutely _nothing_ like that.” 

“Maybe…” Madeleine said thoughtfully, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief, “...maybe you could make it so. Entice him, as it were. What if you gave _him_ a gift? Something he wants?”

 _As if she’d ever do that….!_ Laughing out loud with sudden mirth, Hermione startled her colleague. “No, I’d never do that. Besides, I can’t even begin to imagine what he would want.” 

_But she did know. Of course, she’d never return the favours. He’d never receive any gifts from her, in any kind, bond or no bond._

Xxxx

Voldemort gritted his teeth, though he kept his polite face on, listening to the complaints of the Chief Negotiator from the Department of International Cooperation. 

“The European Magical Union is very stubborn, my Lord,” Bartemius Crouch said plaintively, his dour face long and drawn. “They’re still resisting our proposal, and they don’t believe you’ll pull Britain out from the Union if they don’t comply.” 

As usual, Crouch had dressed much too correctly, and by his side, he could see Abraxas’’ bland expression, knowing that the man hated their negotiator with a passion. Crouch’s son, however, was quite another matter. That young man was a true menace, by now second in command in the Auror Office _. Needless to say, the Aurors had never been this effective before, and never so ruthless._

Around the long table, his Inner Circle was getting restless, and he could see Antonin was on the verge of offering his usual rash solution again. _However, Voldemort didn’t think it would do any good to kill the leader of the European Magical Union just yet._

Most of magical Europe had been shocked and appalled as the International Statute of Secrecy was pulled in Britain. Everyone had protested, some even suggesting trade bans, though none of that had been put to effect. Then again, they were mellowing, seeing how successful his rule in Britain was. The Muggle Prime Minister, a quite determined lady with a certain iron will, had proved to be willing to crush any opposition to his rule, as long as she was effectively the day-to-day ruler for the Muggles. To be frank, he’d never thought a Muggle could be so useful without the Imperius, but the woman was surprisingly fierce and ruthless. 

Narcissa, his Head of the Department of Education, said with a small smile: “I’ve secured a deal with them, my Lord. Studying abroad will be easier than before, my Lord, and less expensive. The Universities in Europe will welcome all British wizards and witches.” 

“Excellent, my dear,” he said smoothly, and Crouch flinched, knowing that Narcissa had just set him up, showcasing his failure. _To be fair, Crouch’s task had been much more difficult._

Augustus shrugged, pitching in his two Knuts: “We’re in agreement with the Unspeakables all over the world, my Lord. No one wants out of our previous agreements, because they all want access to our research.” 

Crouch coughed, before replied bitterly: “I know, I know. No matter what their governments say, the Universities and the scientists will continue as before, because as everyone knows, they do whatever they want. As for the governments, they will severely hinder our trade, and that’s our main problem. I cannot stress this enough: Our main worry is _the trade_ , ladies and gentlemen, _not_ education and research!” 

Red splotches had settled on the man’s sallow skin, and his chest heaved, signalling his emotional uproar. 

There was a brief silence after his outburst, and many of the Inner Circle raised their eyebrows. Narcissa and Augustus shared a gloating smirk, knowing that they had put their common enemy in a bad light. 

Crouch sighed, dragging a hand tiredly over his brow, before he finally said something worth of note: “If you, my Lord, would meet with the Leader of the European Union yourself, my Lord, it might be easier…” He shrugged helplessly, looking around at the unforgiving faces of Voldemort’s Inner Circle, many of them now having positions as Department Heads or as special advisors. 

Severus, his advisor on the potion industries, cleared his throat. “Permission to speak, my Lord?” he asked diffidently. 

The dark circles underneath his eyes signalled severe lack of sleep, and it was no wonder, Voldemort thought, as the man had begotten no less than six children in seven years. His fellow Death Eaters often joked that no one should trust Severus’ potions, as he obviously wasn’t able to brew a working Contraceptive potion. 

“You may,” Voldemort said graciously. 

“I believe Mr. Crouch is right. A meeting at the top level could do wonders to … _persuade_ … the European leaders. A meeting like that would require a deft hand, skill and … um, abilities to persuade.” 

Severus paused, and the rest of the Circle nodded, as everyone but Mr. Crouch knew that he had just suggested that Voldemort himself should use the Imperius on the entire leadership in the European Magical Union. 

“And,” Severus continued, “I believe it would be worth thinking about meeting on their grounds. You should travel to see them, my Lord, as a token of your … respect .. and goodwill.” 

Antonin snickered, but Voldemort nodded slowly. “You’re right, Severus, that’s a good plan. Let’s meet on a more neutral ground than Brussels. How about Paris?” 

Only Severus and Narcissa seemed to realize why he might prefer Paris, the two of them sharing a quick glance, and the rest voiced their agreement. 

_Oh, his little Goddess would not be happy to see him, not even after seven years apart, but he wanted to see her, to feel whole again, to touch her. No, he_ **_needed_ ** _it, a physical confirmation of their bond. Soulmates weren’t supposed to spend so much time apart, but she was stubborn. Though he more than suspected that she needed it too, the growing ache of her loneliness sitting in his mind like a festering sore._

From the very beginning of his life, he’d always felt as if he had missed a piece of himself. Their Soulbond transcended time, it was beyond time, timeless, and at the point of creation, it had stretched to encompass his entire life, and hers too. He had felt her arrive in 1978, before she was even born, and the missing part of himself had come to life, though he hadn’t known at the time. Her arrival had reverberated through him, and he suspected she had been too distressed at the time to notice how her soul resonated with something - _someone_ \- **_him_**. 

Crouch smiled, looking slightly relieved, and Voldemort said silkily: “A few weeks should be sufficient to set up the meeting, wouldn’t it? Let’s say… 18 September.” 

_No one needed to know that he’d take a few days off afterwards, exploring Paris and its … attractions._

Xxxx 

On her birthday, she held a lecture on the application of calculations to political science. Her students were all higher-level, and she allowed only the best in her classes. Thirty-three witches and wizards listened attentively from their old-fashioned wooden seats, where generations of students had sat. The auditorium smelled of old wood, stone and spilled ink, and the deep, arched stone windows let in the pale autumn light, slanting rays hitting the bowed heads of her students, the only sound the scratching of their quills and her voice. 

At the conclusion of her lecture, showing how she predicted the results of yesterday’s surprising deal between Britain and the European Magical Union, she suddenly noted the doors at the back of the auditorium opened. Her heart sinking, she didn’t even need to look to see who it was. _The soulbond thrummed in her head, the strength of it suddenly tenfold, making her dizzy, singing like a mighty choir in her head, the intensity swelling until she felt like she was about to burst._

 _Had he come because of the subject of her lecture, or … had he come for her, for her birthday?_ The small stutter in her voice was barely noticeable, but she felt him smirk in the back of her head. 

Wrapping up the lecture, she ushered the students out with a pile of assignments due for next week, all of them groaning over the amount of work she set. _But she wanted no one to witness this meeting. None at all._

Slamming down wards around the entire auditorium, locking the doors, she barked: “Why are you here?!” 

“You know why,” he said calmly, striding down the aisle towards her. 

_And gods, he didn’t look a day older than before. Neither did she, of course, and students frequently thought she was one of them, until she disabused them of that silly notion._

Voldemort was still tall, still too beautiful, dark hair curling on his head with those slight silver tips at his ears. Her eyes drank him in, like she had missed looking at him, the wicked little curl of his lips, the deep darkness with that reddish tint to his eyes, the straight nose and his broad shoulders. And his hands, _oh Merlin_ , his hands… Strong, slender fingers curling around nothing, like he wanted to pull out his wand, but … he didn’t. 

And in the back of her head, she knew why. _He let his wand rest, because he rightly thought it would upset her, if he came towards her with his wand in hand. He came in peace, this time, and he wanted something from her._

Hermione swallowed. _This … this … was overwhelming. His presence, her soulmate, it felt like a balm for all those lonely years of working hard, pouring everything into her work, with no one to come home to, to comfort her or support her. His proximity felt like a wound healing, like a soft blanket around her freezing body._

Taking a shuddering breath, she felt the strong, conflicted urge to run to him, or keep running away, to fight him or to flee. _He was still the most evil wizard in Britain, easily in Europe too, but he was also … hers. That soulbond - oh, she had spent so much time researching it, and she knew, it had been inevitable. All her calculations proved that, though neither she nor him would have chosen this in the first place. Well, here it was, and they were stuck with each other forever. That however, didn’t mean she’d ever support him or spend her time with him._

Stopping a few metres in front of her, he cocked his head. “When are you returning?” 

The deep voice set frissons down her spine, making her feel uncomfortably hot. 

More weakly than she liked, too much affected by his presence, she said: “I’m… I’m fine here. I don’t need to go back to Britain.” The soulbond sang between them, making her feel like she was finally _home,_ not alone anymore, and inexplicably, she added, voice thick: “I don’t know.” 

Voldemort nodded slowly, but his eyes were hungry as his gaze flitted over her. His voice was a little gruff too, like he too was overwhelmed: “Doesn’t your soul miss the piece that’s inside me?” 

Hermione whispered: “Maybe. Yes.” 

Voldemort nodded. “Me too.” 

He stood still, like a statue - _a_ _marble statue, chiselled features -_ only his eyes burning for her. 

Slowly, she took a step forward, and then another, coming chest to chest with him. 

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she murmured, stretching on her tiptoes to reach his mouth. 

“Of course not,” he replied, meeting her halfway. 

Their lips met, and for a second, it was soft, gentle almost, and then their tongues clashed, desperation tearing through them both. 

“Nothing at all,” she gasped, as his mouth descended on her throat, nibbling, kissing and sucking. A thought flew through her head: _I will need to Charm my throat tomorrow, or else the students will laugh at me behind my back._

“Nothing,” he confirmed, “just this.” Grabbing hold of her hair, he bent her backwards, lips tracing a line into her cleavage, tongue lapping at the hem of the v-line opening of her robe, making goosebumps form on her skin. 

Her heart thudded in her chest, blood rushing through her veins, pulsing, making her nipples ache for his mouth and her sex literally _drip_ for him. 

“You want it,” he muttered, almost feverishly, one hand at the small of her back, the other still firmly in her hair, “you want it, you do!” 

“Yes,” she almost whined, “I want it!” 

He was breathing hard, looking at her, when that familiar, devilish smirk appeared on his face. 

With a whisper of his magic, their clothes fell away, and he pushed her down on her knees. 

“You know what I want,” he gritted out, and she was face-to-face with his cock. _It was just as big as she remembered, a thick stem rising upwards, veins and ridges along the shaft, and the bulbous tip was red and shiny, with droplets pooling at the slit on top._

“I’ve never done this,” she said, peering up at him, though her right hand was already gripping him, fingers still not meeting around his shaft. _Yes, she wanted to do this._ She licked her lips, and his eyes widened, his cock twitching in her hand. 

“I know,” he muttered huskily, “but you’ll learn. Mind your teeth, use your tongue.” 

Giving him a smile that was almost coy, she licked a broad stripe across the head, making him groan out loud. The taste was salty and musky, though clean, and after swiping her tongue a few times, she took him into her mouth, sucking gently on him. 

“That’s it,” he muttered, “so good, you’re doing so good.” Bobbing her head, bringing him in and out of her mouth, using him as if he was a lollipop, she snaked a hand down to her sex, rubbing herself expertly, her fingers easily finding wetness, tracing her nub with her fingertips. 

“Good girl,” he praised, voice rusty, “touch yourself, make you ready, but don’t come. I want you to come on my cock.” 

Defiant, she rubbed herself faster, feeling the tendrils of ecstasy bloom inside, making her almost hump her own hand, her mouth moving faster on him, making his breath stutter, until he snarled: “Enough, I’m going to come inside you!”

Grabbing her hair, he raised her up, the twinge almost painful, but also so very good - _so naughty -_ before he looked at her, eyes fully red, almost glazed over with desire. 

Turning her forcibly around, he bent her over her lectern, kicking her legs aside. Fumbling slightly, like his hands were shaking, the blunt, silky tip of his cock prodded at her, before he slid inside. 

“Oh Lord!” she almost shouted, the feeling of fullness so shocking, so welcome, so very exciting - _what she had missed during these seven years -_ and he chuckled. 

“Lord…” he muttered, sounding so pleased, though she had only made an exclamation. But this was not the time to clarify, because as he slid back out, she almost whimpered at the loss of that stretch. Aching her back, she pushed back at him, making him slide inside again, lodging deeply inside her, making her pant. 

It was too much, but not enough, and she’d need a little more, just a little, to climb that final hill to her crest, but he was laughing sinfully, mumbling: “Not yet, witch, not yet, I’m going to keep you on the brink, making you really feel what you’ve denied us for so long.” 

His thrusts became harder, hips snapping into her, and the wet sound as he moved faster inside her became louder. The slap of their skin - _hard, muscled thighs meeting her arse_ \- made her almost mewl, writhe on his rigid, hard cock, craving more, _more_ and **_MORE_**.

Bracing herself on one arm, the carved ornaments on her wooden lectern digging into her hand, she tried to touch herself, but he wouldn’t have it. 

“Not yet,” he grunted, pinning her hands to the lectern, continuing the relentless thrusting into her. Shaking with the _almost_ bliss, the need to come rising, making her belly ache for the final straw, she clenched down on him, squeezing his cock, and he grunted. 

“Merlin,” he panted, and she clenched again, setting a continuous rhythm that made him swell up and jerk inside her, before he pulled out, breathing hard. 

“Not like this,” he growled, before slinging one arm around her waist, dragging her back to her chair. He sat down, pulling her on top of him, and _gods, did she slide down easily on his cock_ , her legs splayed out on each side of his thighs. 

“This,” he sighed, thrusting up into her, but his hand slid down to her sex, cupping her, making her arch her back again, and his other hand found her aching nipple, twirling it between his fingers. 

Pushing down on him, desperately seeking friction, squeezing his cock like a vice inside her, he seemed content to thrust into her for a short while, before he muttered: “I’m not going to hold up much further, little Goddess, I’m going to come, very soon, deep inside your sweet hole.” 

And finally, _finally,_ the hand on her sex started moving, and she whined, humping him erratically, because there was no way back, she was falling, flying, sailing through the firmament, dark stars glittering behind her eyes, and everything was a thunder in her ears, the sound of her own cries strangely hoarse and weak, convulsing around the thick shaft keeping her lodged on earth. 

He thrust hard into her with a guttural moan from his throat, and something warm pulsed inside her, filling her up, heating her slick insides through the aftershocks racking through her belly. 

Exhausted, she let her head fall back on his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck, feeling the hammering of his heart as a soothing rhythm behind her. 

For a long time, they sat still, until his cock slid wetly out of her, slick come trickling out, staining her thighs. 

  
  


Xxxx

Vaguely, thoroughly sated, he wondered why the foolish girl had denied them this exquisite pleasure for years. _This was how it should be, the bond content, not that niggling, aching want like it was when they were apart._

“I want more.” The words came out of his mouth involuntarily, but he knew it to be desperately true. _What more, she knew it too._

The witch in his lap sighed, and he felt her mind focus, returning to her razor sharp precision, chasing the blessed afterglow of sex away. 

“I do,” he insisted. “I want to meet you, to have you, at least a few times during the year.” 

Hermione snorted. “Nothing more,” she said, “nothing permanent, nothing that interferes with my work.” She mulled it over for a moment, before she finally said: “Twice a year.”

From their connection, he sensed her emotions: _She needed her independence, having her own life - but today, she must have grudgingly realized, life would be better if they satisfied the bond. There was no surprise there. His clever little Goddess wasn’t the kind of witch who’d be a docile little wife, happily waiting for his attention, not at all. She had lasted seven years without him, making her own way in the world._

“Good.” He could barely hide his smirk. “I’m fine with that. So… I’ll see you at Samhain and Beltane, at least?” 

“Samhain and Beltane? Why?” she said, raising her head to look at him, narrowing her eyes, those beautiful, sharp golden-brown eyes. 

“To exploit our bond for magical gain, of course,” he replied, telling her the truth. _It was a half truth, of course, because the main reason was his need for her, but she already knew that._

“No more rituals!” she growled, and he chuckled. She shivered slightly on his lap, and pleased, he caught a half-formed thought: _laughter like molten chocolate_. 

“Yes,” he told her with certainty, “ _more_ rituals. More power to me and to you. You know you want it.” 

Xxxx

“I want to know all about those rituals before I agree to anything, all details, all effects and I’ll examine the spell theory beforehand,” she muttered with a grudingly acceptance. Still, there was no denying it: She wanted him, she wanted it _\- she needed this, her very being almost purred at being close to him_ , _and she’d enjoy_ _exploring magic and knowledge with someone who was just as smart as herself -_ but she was not about to be tricked into doing all sorts of awful things. 

“You can see me as often you want,” he muttered, his breath tickling her ear, “but I’ll be expecting you at least twice a year, then.” 

“We’ll need a meeting point,” she said, practical as ever. 

Against her cheek, she could feel him grin. Lazily, he lifted his hand, and a small box flew from his discarded robes. “I have just the thing,” he said. “Like my Mark, but not permanent and harmful. Just a pointer, making Apparition easier.” 

Staring suspiciously at the box, she opened it, seeing the third piece of the jewellery nestling on black velvet. _Silver filigree snakes again, this time in the shape of a ring. A ring? Wasn’t that a little ominous? Because surely this was a gift that signified …_

Before she could protest, he took the ring out, pushing it on her finger, mumbling: “Happy birthday, my little Goddess. With this, you can go through all my wards. It’s your choice, of course. You can still stay in Paris, working to your heart’s content, the only things we change will be the ability to enjoy our … rendezvous … more easily. For practical purposes only.” 

Giving him a steady glare, his expression unchanging in the face of her scrutiny, she nodded slowly, realization slowly settling in. _Not how she would want it to be, but how it_ **_was_** _. It would never be traditional, but it was a relationship._

Almost reluctantly, she said quietly: “Nothing else makes sense. We’re tied together much more firmly than any marriage bond already. There won’t be other witches and wizards for us now, we might as well… It doesn’t matter. It’s practical, as you say.” 

Voldemort’s face cracked into a grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling, but for once, she could feel his emotions were genuine. _He wanted this, he wanted her - he wanted even more from her too, but he was willing to wait. After all, they had an eternity to explore together, there would be no rush. She could do this in her own time. Maybe, after fifty years or so, she might even be able to forgive him for tricking her. As it was, she had finally accepted that he belonged to her, evil bastard that he was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting on 'Fountain of Knowledge'. It really means a lot to me. <3  
> To know that there are so many others whom actually like this twisted ship is always surprising, but it also makes me feel like I'm not so freakishly odd, lol. 
> 
> So, how would their future unfold? I can imagine the two of them growing slowly closer over the years... 
> 
> The story was (partly) inspired by the chorus of a song: 'Dizzy with wonder' by Anja Garbarek. 
> 
> "Dizzy with wonder  
> I shake my head to clear the view  
> With a hunger to know  
> I come to this place to be close to you"


End file.
